Evileye
by Mione21
Summary: Hermione secretly graduates,but remains at Hogwarts as an apprentice. More secrets surround her as she receives a book of spells from an unknown source. It seems that all the transformation that Hermione has gone through lately cannot be ignored by anyone, especially one Severus Snape, the one man who would like to forget. Mature readers only. AU to the highest extreme. Dark/Angst.
1. Chapter 1

This story was originally started under another name in 2002. It was pulled and has recently been completed. It is completely AU, disregards anything regarding the last book, and yes, since the characters and original source belong to JKR, I've conspired with a few characters to give you a different ending. ;)

_For MATURE readers ONLY! This story is NOT for the squeamish. There is violence, blood and characters acting non-canon. It is also my first major-length story clocking in at sixteen full chapters. Did I mention non-canon? Yes, there is a lot of DARK stuff going on in here. NOT my ususal style, but this is what the characters did in my head so I wrote it down._

_Please stick with me for the first few chapters, even if you have a small taste of marysue in the back of your mouth. I assure you, that will pass. It is my hope that you'll enjoy._

_All my best, and I hope to the HIGHEST POWER that you won't flame or hate me when it is all read and done (as well as 'said and done' too)._

_Mione21_

oOo

Evileye Chapter 1

Harry rubbed his forehead. Not from an alerting pain from his ever-present scar, but from the migraine developing over a much-heated debate with his red-headed co-conspirator. "Come on now, we have to narrow this down…and fast." He looked over to Ron, who was flipping through scraps of paper torn from several advertisements. "Her birthday is just a few days away, and we haven't got time for this. To top it off, she'll be here any minute!" Since this was the Friday before her birthday, they only had one weekend available for shopping.

"But we have GOT to get this right…I want 'Mione to be stunned." Ron admitted, without breaking his concentration on the pile of clippings before him. "It'll be fantastic to see _her_ at a loss for words—Ah!" Ron fished one buried sheet from among the others and sent it sliding across the table to Harry. Ron's look was the same as when he called "Check Mate" as his chin shot upward and he crossed his arms. A mere second passed, before Ron lost his triumphant pose and began scrambling to shovel the mess of clippings into a folder. Harry understood this queue and buried the sheet he had into a book before Hermione reached the duo.

"Hello there, what's the fuss?" Hermione nudged Ron over so that she would have some room at the table, as she straddled the bench. Of course she knew exactly what they were up to, but she decided to tease them mercilessly for her own amusement. She leaned forward toward the folder acknowledging its presence, "Is that your homework, Ron? How DO you find the time?" Ron slid the folder under his books.

"No 'Mione, its guy-stuff. Quidditch and all. And we don't care to bore you today, do we Harry?" Ron was begging for help.

"Yes, we were just going over some strategy…want to take a look?" Harry jumped from an unseen kick under the table.

"No thanks, I'm hungry and I don't want to lose my appetite" Hermione snickered. With that, she drew her other leg around and sat forward at the table. Ron scooped his books and the folder of "possibles" from the table to deposit them on the floor. And dinner was served.

As they ate and chitchatted, both Ron and Harry tried to conceal their newly piqued interest in Hermione. Of course she was the same old friend as she had been for years. But something unspoken had ultimately changed the dynamic between them. Hermione had, for lack of a better term, "grown up". And even if the boys tried to ignore this simple fact, it was pointless. She also knew.

The very moment the three were reunited on the Express, both Harry and Ron, unbeknownst to each other, thanked some higher power that they were sitting down.

And there she was, like they had first set eyes on her years ago, but now she graced the doorjamb with tamed ringlets and noticeable curves. The boys shot quick looks at each other before their attention reverted to this…beauty. She impartially watched them eye her from head to toe and back again, and she felt the heady flutter of adrenaline that came with being _admired_.

Instead of her robe, she opted for a starched white shirt with the first two buttons undone, and a black skirt that stopped just above the knee. Since she had spent many days in the sun, she liked the look of her bare skin, and opted for sandals that laced up delicately to above her ankle with a slight wedge heel. The only color she wore was the deep red on her toes, her fingernails, and on her smiling lips.

She looked good, she thought smugly to herself. Why shouldn't they like what they see? Hermione thought now about how she had spent practically her entire summer with her parent's neighbor Archana, and that the physical exertion of their days had ultimately been the reason for her present state.

Archana, the daughter of her parents' closest friends had purchased the house next door practically within hours of it being put on the market. She, being a professional and well-accomplished dancer, was already toying with the idea of one day being a dance instructor, and decided she wanted a 'student' on which to hone her skills needed for the classroom.

During the dinner party on her first evening home, Hermione's and Archana's parents laughed over dinner when Archana mentioned that Hermione was the perfect candidate for tutelage. "I think you are mistaken…Hermione is too bookish for that kind of undertaking, she'll break both her legs on the first day if you allow her into your studio."

Hermione laughed at the thought of this herself, until she realized the undertone, and then lightly smacked her dad's arm in disapproval. "Hey!" Hermione hollered, "I'm quite sure I could dance if I put my mind to it." She then looked to her mother for affirmation, to which a cheerful interjection made the room chuckle. "It's not your mind but your legs for which _WE_ are concerned!"

That was her first night back at home, and on her first full day, she awoke early, ate a quick breakfast and then headed next door. And she was thoroughly unprepared for what was to come. Archana was standing at the front door with a great big smile and said ominously, "There is still time to turn back before it's too late…"

And it was difficult. Archana, though just a few years older than Hermione, had been dancing her whole life. Every muscle in her body was put to the test daily, whereas Hermione's right arm seemed to hold her strongest muscles—from years of flipping pages and incessantly writing. After just a few minutes of "warming-up" they both knew what they were in for quite an adventure.

Archana, within weeks had realized just how determined Hermione was to learn, and Hermione realized just how well-suited Archana was for instruction. While they had an ideal student/teacher relationship, they had forged an even stronger friendship than they already shared. They had known each other from infancy, but this was the first time that they realized the interests in common other than their parents. And it was quite fun to find more and more similarities each day.

And though Hermione talked about Harry, Ron and the other boys at school, she did need to sidestep a few facts. In her first year, her parents did tell Archana's parents that Hermione was accepted to a boarding school that specialized in "Science and Latin", but refused to expound (much to the amusement of their friends).

It had become a long-standing joke that instead of Hermione studying, she was actually being leased into child labor, or fulfilling a prison sentence in installments. After a few questions went unanswered, over a period of time, the close friends left it unsaid. Thankfully, Archana's parents, as well as Archana herself, chalked it up to their need for privacy, and their lack of willingness to boast.

Hermoine always kept the secret in the back of her mind, even if she occasionally felt herself trip over some words, only to make a quick recovery. If Archana ever caught these slight bumps in conversation, she never let on. Hermione was even comforted with the nickname that Archana dubbed for Hogwarts: The Prison. Although the name aptly described most schools, it aided Hermoine in conversation, and made Archana laugh every time the word was used.

The grueling hours spent in the studio were easily outdone by the hours spent shopping, whispering, swimming, and flagrant boy-watching. Hermione's parents, ever-indulgent to their daughter, let her test the waters of adulthood; letting her take money out of her account, and purchase clothing completely of her own choosing, and to visit a salon in London, under the supervision of Archana, after a lengthy conversation of how they didn't want her to come home with a Mohawk or other equally horrible style. Hermione did assure them that she would not, under any circumstance, give them cause to be ashamed of her.

They knew that their little girl was growing up, and they knew that Archana was a trustworthy friend and guide through this awkward stage of development. Each time Hermione came home, her mom and dad noticed one small change after another. None were unpleasant, but at times one of them would feel the pang of seeing their little girl being replaced by a newer, ever-so-slightly-older version. They were happy that Hermione decided to forgo the months buried in text up in her room, and instead chose to engage areas of her brain other than the logical or critical. Even more so, they were happy that she was joining the world with another person gracing her presence. She was truly happy for the first summer they could recently remember.

"This week brings you a great new task," Archana pursed her lips into an evil grin. Hermione looked up from the floor of her room, blowing on her wet fingernail polish, "What _have_ you in store for me?"

"Since you are limber enough now, I think you are ready. I've decided we will focus on…" drumming on her knees, "Belly Dancing". Archana was expecting peals of laughter from her friend, but to her amusement, she received a dropped jaw and a "huh?" as a reply. But months later, on the Express, every single move from that day on had been worth it.

Archana did everything in her power to instill Hermione with not only the actions necessary to perform this skillful dance, but she also bestowed the underlying meaning to the dance as well. And Hermione's mind was fuelled daily with the understanding of the advantages that its mastery could produce. And once Archana was comfortable with Hermione's progress, she was then ready to add another dance to Hermione's arsenal of knowledge, from the basic foxtrot to the more advanced waltz. Archana even employed a handsome friend from her dance academy to assist in teaching Hermione the most sultry and advanced moves—of which Hermione's parents need not be alerted—and even he was obviously pleased with Hermione's ability. "Why couldn't I have had Hermione as a partner all those years in school? My grades would have been better." Of course, there was occasionally time to turn on the radio and just dance around to the newest pop, but all in all, the two were pretty serious in their venture.

Even with all of the different styles, Archana wanted Hermione to master her first endeavor, belly dancing, and therefore made it a point to always return to that art. "May the lord have pity on you, for you are about to do some serious heart-breaking", Archana shook her head slowly, "You absolutely have the body to do some SERIOUS harm now." Archana watched Hermione's reflection move expertly. Hermione's lips were engaged in a naughty smile, and she managed a wink at her friend as she sent herself into a spin.

Archana called out, "Oh! Very Bolly, girl…very Bolly!"

She was so grateful to have someone like Archana around. She could and did talk about things she would normally avoid with the girls at school, for fear of broaching a subject age inappropriate, or for just not wanting the whole school to find out about. These subjects included her feelings about Harry and Ron, as friends and as boys. They talked about Archana's current boyfriend, and what things went on in the evenings when they met after his day at work. Hermione was free to ask her anything, and Archana afforded the same leeway. Regardless of the subject, sex or politics, they were honest with each other and left reservation at the door of the studio.

Thankfully, they had the bond of years, so to speak, and they each known that even if something came out wrong, it was impossible to imagine an intentional slight. When Archana realized that Hermione needed more than just dance lessons she was quick to express her opinion. "Lady, we seriously need to give you a makeover. You could be leading men around on a leash, but you prefer to hide your _assets_, don't you?" Hermione looked at her baggy jogging pants and tee-shirt. They were large enough too fit her father comfortably, and Hermione practically swam in them. Archana simply stated that once practice was over, they were going straight to Hermione's to burn all of her clothes. "It is time for the real Hermione-the brilliant _and_ gorgeous girl, to step away from the shadows and into the limelight."

With Hermione's training, her entire countenance was changing. Her posture was now straight, instead of the customary slouch—the earmark of the bookish, her walk was graceful and less hurried. Archana even showed her the 'skirt step' that involved walking with one foot crossing in front of the other, which automatically created a hip-sway dangerous enough to cause whiplash. And that was only the beginning.

Archana also had a knack for applying just enough makeup to create a natural but mesmerizing look. After an afternoon of shaping Hermione's eyebrows and curling her lashes, Archana used her pinky to apply something slick and shimmery to Hermione's lips. Hermione mused, looking in the mirror, that Archana must be a little witch herself, to be able to apply completely muggle charms to her and make her look better than any flick of the wrist would have done. Within that afternoon, after removing and reapplying, Hermione could reproduce this effect within just a few minutes. Simple and effective, Hermione thought to herself.

As the summer was winding to an end, Hermione and Archana spent as much time as they could in the studio. At one point, Archana even mentioned that Hermione had a chance, if she wanted it, to be introduced to certain circles in the dance world. She had quickly gained the grace and stamina to even attain some standing in the circuit. "I could pass your name to some agents. How about trying your hand at this?" Archana queried. Hermione just thought of strange ball gowns and replied, "I'll pass, but thanks for the compliment!"

Archana had recently received an offer to perform with a dance troupe with engagements in Europe and the U.S. With a joking wink, Archana even offered to "pull some strings" to get Hermoine somehow involved. Of course, Archana knew that Hermione wouldn't take her up on the offer; Hermione loved whatever-it-was that consumed her studies. Hermione chuckled. She did, however enjoy the flattery. "No, really. I've got to get back to making those license plates." With only a few days before school, Hermoine made Archana promise that she would write and that she should direct all correspondence to her parents, who would deliver it during their frequent visits.

It was sad to leave, especially since she really had been having the time of her life. Hermione not only had a chance to have the enjoyment of a female companion with a slightly advanced edge on 'the way things work' between women and men, but she also had fun without consequence, no one tried to kill her, and she was transformed from mousy to drop-dead sexy under expert tutelage. "Don't forget, Hermione. Practice every day…use it or lose it", Archana leaned close and whispered as they stood watching Hermione's dad pack the car. They saw him slam the door and turn to where they stood. With a warm hug from her closest girlfriend Archana, she was sent on her way to unleash hell on an unsuspecting gender.

"Use it or lose it." Hermione weighed this phrase as she rode with her parents to the train. Although she kept up her studies, late at night while her parents were asleep, Hermione realized that she had not once felt the need to use her wand. She remembered packing it when she left school, and packing it to return. She wondered if she had forgotten how to use it in a second of anxiety, but then dismissed it as she sipped the tea from her travel mug.

And now in the dining hall, and down the corridors, and in the stands at the matches, she was receiving as much attention as to rival even Harry's celebrity.

Upon their impromptu visit, the twins made no attempt to hide that they were pushing past each other in order to get closer to Hermione, much to Ron's consternation. While everyone noticed the 'new Hermione', no one breathed a word aloud to her or to anyone else… For fear of insulting their classmate, for fear of losing the favor of a possible love interest, or perhaps of the fear that to put words to this change would be enough to cause the vision evaporate. Of course, Archana imparted the skill of watching the eyes, and to read them now was better than to hear anything that was vocalized, "A look is worth a million."

Dumbledore, upon seeing Hermione, greeted her with "I can see that you have taken most beneficial advantage of your vacation, Miss Granger. It is good to see you." And that was the only mention of her newfound appearance. And that was the only mention of her looks since she arrived.

And by the end of her first week back, Hermione began receiving mail. Lots of mail. The owls seemed to zero her in on first, and then everyone else came next. Small parcels, Ron and Harry protectively aware of what they were, were next on the delivery. Tokens of affection, gifts and letters, each with the intent of winning over her heart, the letters making a plea to win over her brain as well, since they were all well written (albeit a tad too dramatic, or too soggy with professions of love), or well chosen. And Ron and Harry never got a chance to see who sent them or what was inside.

Even the boys from the as far as the Slytherin table noticed that she would reduce the stack letters and the parcels and slide them into her pockets. No one who wrote her would be openly chastised or ridiculed (which she would never do anyway). She was the object of several boys' fancy, but she kept her silence and made no attempt to acknowledge the senders amid a hall of onlookers. Ron and Harry didn't even know if she responded to any of these letters. Ron did, however, once tease, "Hey, 'Moine, did you get my letter?" but that was diffused by her smirk and an elbow to his ribs. Harry begrudgingly looked as Ron got an extra second of attention.

And even though both Harry and Ron secretly wondered if she had any feelings for them other than friendship, they outwardly acted as flippantly as possible about the attention showered on their friend. Both of them were becoming to come to terms that if she had any notions toward them, that she would have acted out years ago. And they were loathe to think that if they ever DID get a chance to date her, and if that relationship dissolved, they would be without one of their closest friends, and that would just not do.

One thing that they did criticize her about was her new eating habits. As they passed plates to each other, Harry said "This won't do for Hermione, it's not green enough" as he passed a plate of turkey to Ron. "Hey, I wanted some" Hermione snatched the plate from between them. Things were finally starting to settle, and they fell back into their easy routine with each other. After lunch, the three decided to get together and have a game of Hearts (or what Harry quickly reverted to its alternate name of 'Cut Throat') after the day's classes were complete.

Hermione, stood first, and absently brushed off her robes, which she had, as of late, repeatedly 'forgotten' to zipper. It was to her amusement that when she ran her hands down the front of her shirt briskly, that there was a slight detection of gasping that rang through the room. Just how many wanted to help, she couldn't amuse herself enough with that thought. She murmured to her herself, "And among all of these admirers, I wonder which of them is skilled enough to make me enjoy it." With that she turned toward the doors and did her best runway walk. Noticing that her robes billowed behind her as, she was loathe to think, her robes would look the same on her as Professor Snape's robes looked on him as he walked. _That_ thought slowed her pace and made each step of her lilt graceful and just a touch more provocative.

While the male students craned their heads to watch her leave, the professors at the head table hardly made note that she was leaving early-Except for one. Dark tendrils of his hair obscured his face; the incline of his head would make anyone at his table think he was glaring at his plate, but his eyes, under heavy lids, watched the lithe young student sashay down the aisle and out of the hall. For the entire week, it seemed that Miss Granger had been getting under his skin. Each glimpse of her had become an aggravation that made every muscle tense. And for that, Severus promised himself, he would exact some sort of revenge.

And his reasoning for revenge was simple. On the evening of the student's first day back, there was the annoying bustle about the grounds that Snape found particularly offensive. He found himself looking for solitude, and realized that the perfect place for that would be the library. Of course there were the dungeons, but he also desired some room as well. With all the students around, he was feeling claustrophobic enough. The library would give him the benefit of an expanse openness that offered diffused light and quiet. Besides, no normal student would find themselves studying on their first evening back in school. And even a sharp student would at least wait until after their first class to find a reason to be in the library.

One of the few benefits from teaching there for so long was the predictability of the little abominations that called themselves students.

He quietly slipped through the doors and inhaled deeply, enjoying the quiet that few places in the school possessed tonight. He looked up at the high ceiling and even though he had seen it thousands of times, he never got tired of looking at the way the masonry joined artfully, safely and permanently above. Severus began walking through the library along the wall, the way he preferred, toward the back where he knew he'd find a comfortable chair, a decent book, and the quiet enjoyment of both.

He settled himself and began to read. Hours passed where the only sound he heard was scrape of paper when he turned the pages, that is, until he heard the doors to the library open and a voice call, "Hello, anyone here?" It was late, and the voice, though familiar, took some time to register. The pause of silence was then interrupted, again, "Good". At that point he knew it was the only student who would break with convention, and prove him wrong. That little git Granger.

Hermione chose this room because she thought "Who else would set foot in the library on the first day back, besides me?" She strode down the main corridor of the Library, and found that, directly in the center, at the place where the ceiling is the highest, was the perfect place to be. She slid her foot across the floor and found it made a pleasant sound. It was polished and smooth, and the acoustics were fantastic in here, even with the books all around. She produced a small cd player from her pocket and set it on one of the chairs. She looked around one more time, thinking that no one would be there, listening for any sign of someone else. She removed her shoes and her robe, and placed them neatly under the player. Her room, she had decided, was a fine place to dance, but she missed the roominess of Archana's studio. That's why she found herself here in the library. Even without the mirrors, the high ceiling gave her a feeling similar to that of the studio…Airy and light. She would change her room around within the week and hang muggle mirrors and a bar later. In the meantime, this would have to do.

She was wearing stretchy work out clothes that clung to her body. The black leggings and white tank were complimented by a purple wrap. Hermione liked the look and felt more comfortable, even by herself, by being covered by an extra piece of clothing, which she tied around her waist to look like a type of skirt.

She stretched, and closed her eyes. She faced the front, ears trained on the door in case someone wandered in. Archana and Hermione had burned several cd's when they were hanging out listening to music. This particular CD had traditional belly-dancing music mixed with their favorite songs with great dance beats. The songs started out slower, but by the end, had the heart pounding and the body trying to catch up. Hermione hit play and she began to dance. As she moved, her limbs felt longer and she began to roll her hips to the music. She raised one hand above her head, palm facing the ceiling, and the other hand palm to the floor just as the music introduced a beat. She wanted to work up a sweat today, and she wasn't planning to leave until she was spent.

Severus gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the arms of the chair. He pushed himself up and made his way to the center aisle. But then he froze. Was that music? It took him a minute to register that it was in fact music…Something that was exotic and old-"What the?" Severus was half-expecting to hear the pitter-pat of a wandering student, but he was unnerved and agitated by the unpredictable addition of music. He edged to the corner of the bookcase and slowly peered around to see the source of this unwelcome invasion.

Several shudders ran through him as he tried to make sense of the sensory overload he was experiencing. First, a student wandered into the library on her first day back as school. Secondly, she was practically nude. She was, to top it all off, playing music and gyrating…Right in the center of the room? Finally, the student he was seeing was of all people, Miss Hermione Granger, the bookworm, the persnickety student with her hand ever waving.

He blinked and stayed still. He made no move or voiced no request for her to stop.

Were she to turn around, she might see just a sliver of his face, but then again maybe not. She was expecting to see no one, and believed no one to be there.

Severus found himself without words. It sent him mentally off balance. He wanted her to stop. He wanted her to get out. But he was becoming entranced with her movements; like a drug or a spell. He wanted to see more… To see what she was going to do next. Her body was exquisite, and her grace was breathtaking. He saw her profile, and realized just what had happened to her. She had transformed into a woman, and was armed now, with not only a superlative mind, but a devilishly sexy form as well. The song ended, and now another began with a faster tempo.

One moment he was feeling awe and admiration, the next he was feeling the darkest pit of desire, then hate, then disgust and then apprehension. Each feeling was clamoring to gain a foothold of his mind: Each feeling fighting the other for reign over his brain.

One hand found its way to his forehead, and the wetness he wiped from his brow confirmed that he was in a highly reactionary state. He was roused from his hypnotism, and felt the uncomfortable tightness in his pants. He ducked back completely into his row of books and used the sleeve of his robe to dry his face. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

Severus looked down to where it felt like a knife was stuck in him. Unfortunately it was just his nerves wreaking havoc on his stomach. Had it been a knife, he would be able to immediately extract it. But there was no luck to be found in this situation. He had to deal with the burn.

Hermione felt the perspiration drip down her back as some of the curls clung wetly to her neck. She had lost herself, and therefore lost track of time as well. Since the cd player was set to random, she had no way of figuring out how long she had been dancing. She pressed pause, and slowly rocked back and forth in place to see how her muscles would react. She felt the vibration of near exhaustion, and decided that she had been dancing for long enough tonight. She took in a deep breath and held it for a moment. That is when she heard some sort of shuffle.

She was alert, fully alert, and she charged to where the source of it was. She rounded the corner stopping dead in her tracks by a wall of black; a man with a book folded within his arms.

"Miss Granger." He growled.

"Professor Snape, how did you get in here?" Startled and upset, she glared.

"I've been here since early this afternoon. You've been here disturbing the peace for close to two hours."

"Were you _watching_ me?" She tossed her hair over her shoulder and her hands now rested on her hips. Her voice took on a wholly new and deep undertone. She took a step closer.

"I heard your voice and then the music. Since I am a reasonably logical individual, I deduced what you were doing and left you to it." He watched as the sweat dripped down her neck and disappeared between her breasts.

"I called out to see if anyone was here," she anger grew and she was speaking as low as a whisper, "and you didn't respond. I thought I was alone. Why didn't you let me know you were here?" Her eyes glowed with anger, and the words produced squeezed past her snarl. The next sentence wasn't a question. "How _dare_ you." Her hands slipped from her hips as she said this, and she took another step toward him. Now her hands were balled into fists. One more step and Hermione's body would be flush with his.

He could feel her breath on his hands. It was the first warmth he had felt from another human being in ages. And it angered him that she had elicited this memory.

"First of all, Miss Granger, I do not answer to students. _They answer to me_." His metered his voice, making sure that she was receiving his meaning in full measure.

"Secondly, I _dare_ do anything I wish here, since I am faculty, whereas _you_ are a student and should be using the library as a place for mental expansion, not physical enjoyment."

He leaned down close to her, so close that she had to bend backward to look up into his eyes, "Now how dare _you_, Miss Granger, to attempt to chastise me, _accuse me of perversion_ and advance on me as if to _do me harm_. What do you have to say for yourself, _little girl_?" His hair fell forward and grazed her face. One lip curled and revealed a few teeth. Was he smiling?

Had she had not been so weak (from exertion? Fear?), she would have slapped him in order to move him back enough so that she could breathe. "Just stay away from me-", Hermione responded with fiery hiss.

She reeled backward and spun on her heel. With one swipe, she had all of her personal things in her grasp, dashed from the room.

Severus, however, did not make a hasty exit. Slowly, he backed up to the chair, eased himself into it, dropping the book on the floor.

Then he leaned forward and cradled his forehead in his hands.

Safely inside her room, after barricading the door with her back, Hermoine dropped everything. She heard her CD player crack as it hit the floor, but she didn't care. She was safe from that evil man.

He couldn't corner her here—there were too many students within the wing. Surely someone would see him enter. Someone would hear her screams-

Foolishness! She thought. He wasn't about to hurt her.

She stomped over to the window and peered out, viewing the woods beyond in dim silver light cast by the moon. Her body was still automatically responding to the fear that comes when it believes it is in mortal danger. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breathing still quick, and said aloud, "He wouldn't hurt me…I am, after all, a student in his care." Hermione intentionally took in a deep breath and held it. This epiphany began to knock all the tumblers in her mind into place and then she realized, "But it's not as much that he wouldn't, but that he _couldn't_."

With that, Hermione was the picture of calm.


	2. Chapter 2

Evileye Chapter 2

It was quite some time before Severus moved. He retrieved the book from the floor and deposited it in its proper place. Dazed, he made it back to the dungeons, and into his private quarters.

Instead of his usual procedure for settling in, Severus began to strip off his clothing roughly as he made his way to the bathroom. He felt unclean after the incident, and desired a shower. At first he worked at getting his shirt buttons undone, until the uncomfortable sensation of the wet shirt clinging to his back made him rip at it until it lay in pieces on the floor.

That detestable creature, he kept reminding himself, was the reason for his present state. There were very few things that made him lose his composure. But one was being proven wrong. For Severus, it was one thing to be bested by a peer, but this was only a girl. The aggravation was mounting exponentially as he mulled the events of the last few hours.

This feeling of distraction felt new and uncomfortable, like feeling a pebble imbedded deep in the tread of a shoe. Severus tried to dismiss the thoughts, but they kept coming. It was if he was fighting a battle of wits with the very thought of her, and he was coming up the loser with every new vision. What made this situation even more distasteful, it made him think of Voldemort. While Severus had given himself freely to the Death Eaters, he had, from that day, felt like he was yoked with someone else's wishes and desires. And though Severus did not give himself to Hermione, he was feeling the same type of emotion because of her and powerless to change the flood of images that came over him in waves.

He absentmindedly hopped on one foot, removing the boot from the other, then did the same on the opposite foot. In the bathroom, he turned the shower on to the hottest setting he knew he could bear, removed his pants, kicking them across the floor and stepped into the searing streams of water. He tucked his head into his chest and let the water burn its way down his back. He could imagine the red streaks developing there because he could actually see the rivulets that ran from his neck down his chest. He did nothing to reduce the heat, _let it come_. The singe of pain that increased over the surface of his body temporarily blocked the mismatched thoughts in his head.

He shivered as he thought of Hermione's body; seeing her hands skim down her sides and her back arch in a movement that simulated the moment before sexual release. Her skin glowed from the reflection of candlelight on her wet body. When she did spin, the look on her face was also reminiscent of passion. Her eyelids open just enough to help her maintain her balance. Her eyebrows furrowed together in concentration, and her…her mouth…a lick of the lips; another turn and her mouth slightly open; another spin and she was biting her lower lip.

He reached down and finally decreased the hot water as he let it wash over his head. He closed his eyes, but his mind's eye had captured images of her. Her hands and feet matched, as he saw snatches of red. She had taken meticulous care of herself, or at least let her self be pampered by someone else. When she stretched her calf muscle, he saw that the arch and heel of her foot were smooth. Her muscles flexed and he could see that she was not only slim but also strong. Severus reached for the soap and lathered his hair.

And he was angry again. He opened his eyes, even though he had soap all over his face. The sting was momentary, and he ran his face into the stream of water. Everything about her was perfection. _At least until she opened her mouth_.

"But what was I expecting her to say?" Severus asked himself as he reached out for a washcloth. He made it soapy and slapped it across his back. He wanted to remove any trace of feeling on it, trying to forget how the shirt clung.

"She was in the right. I should have said something. She is usually timid. She could be feeling violated." Severus drew the cloth over his neck and then began to soap his chest and stomach violently. The cloth was coarse, and he felt the scratch of it against his sensitive skin. "_To hell with her. Perhaps this taught her a lesson on humility_."

He was aware that the entire time he was in the shower he had been unable to think down his hardness. He refused to touch it, thinking to himself that he had violated himself enough by replaying the thoughts of how Hermione had not only proven him wrong, but that she had also been able to arouse him to derision. No woman, in his memory, had the ability to push Severus off balance. When he chose to bed one, he had easily been able to keep one part of his brain or another occupied productively elsewhere.

He now was jarred with the fact that the girl he deemed as _trouble_ was expertly categorized, and he was just beginning to realize the scope of what that name entailed.

It took him some time, but he finally stepped out of the shower and toweled off. Severus donned his robe and realized that the hardness was now gone, like a disappearing stray realizing that it won't be fed. He made his way to the hearth, in order to prepare a pot of water for tea. If being angry wasn't enough, he also had to contend with the spike of adrenaline that comes with arousal, and the pent-up aggravation that comes with denying desire as well. "_Damn that little witch_" He growled into the fire as it spit back sparks in reply.

Saturday morning found Ron and Harry profoundly befuddled. They were at a loss to find a way to go to Diagon Alley without Hermione, so that they could make their way to Gringott's and then purchase her birthday present. Upon seeing her, they both were trying to silently come up with an angle that would prohibit her from accompanying them on their secretive task. "Well, you two, you'll have to find amuse each other today, because I've got things to do. I hope you aren't too put out-" Hermione corkscrewed a lock of hair around her finger. Harry quickly jumped on this statement, "If that's the case, can we meet back here later. Will you be free this evening?" Harry glared at Ron, who looked like he was going to burst from holding in the question, "What are you doing today?" Even though they both thought it, they dare not ask the question. This was a one-shot deal, and they weren't about to question their luck.

Hermione reached out for a cup of tea and blew across the surface. The steam felt good on her face, and the warmth of the mug radiated to her fingertips. The temperature was dropping just a touch, and the air was crisp and dry. She held it before her and smiled. Then took a sip and smiled again. Hermione was content. Her birthday was just a few days away, and she was looking forward to seeing her parents. With any luck, she'd also have a letter from her friend Archana. The boys both looked pleased that she was smiling, and they knew that they'd be back in Hermione's presence soon enough. Harry grabbed one last bite of eggs and left the table holding a triangle of toast. Ron wiped the jam from his mouth and gulped down the last of his juice as he hovered over the table. "See you this evening." They both made their way out with several other groups wanting to get to the market when everything opens.

Ginny slid closer to Hermione and whispered, "So what are you planning to do today? You look especially keen. Meeting someone?" Hermione cringed when she realized that she was playing her cards too low. Ginny had obviously seen part of her hand, so to speak. "No plans, and no, I'm not meeting anyone…the boys must want to shop without me today, don't you think?" Ginny pondered this while eating her breakfast and nodded. It sounded good, Hermione admitted. "Anyway, I've been shirking my studies, and I want to catch up." Hermione picked up a handful of fresh strawberries, and began nibbling on one. She noticed a shadow in her peripheral vision and looked up mid bite.

"Miss Granger. Are you available after breakfast?" He looked down at her as her lips formed a seal around the red berry.

She licked her lips. Her tongue came to a point and just touched her upper lip as she thought of how to reply. She swung her leg over the bench, and was now facing her professor, still holding the berries in one hand. She refused to break eye contact, "What would you like me to do for you, Professor Snape?" Another berry made its way to her mouth. She bit slowly.

"_Since you are one of the few students still here_, I suppose you would be the most helpful in some tasks I need to complete before Monday's classes. I will be there shortly." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and made his exit.

At first Hermione thought that this was somewhat of a compliment, that is, until she looked around. Except for a dozen or so first years, she realized that the pool of _helpful students_ contained Neville, Crabbe and Goyle. Ginny burst out in laughter when she saw the look on Hermione's face. Once again, her poker face told the whole story. "Looks like you'll be having fun there, dearest." Ginny winked as she pushed herself up from the table. Hermione stayed at the table and silently fumed.

Taking her time, she strolled the halls and pondered what Snape had in store for her. At first, she thought that he would have some intricate work for her. Then she mused that he would have her sorting papers, in order to just have her close to him. She smirked at the thought that her professor had a bit of a crush on her. Hermione's sides hurt from her giggling when she thought of a fumbling Professor Snape, awkwardly making advances and trying to woo her when no one was around. But her image of him quickly dissipated when she pushed through the doors to his classroom, and her bright eyes met a gaze from a pair of dark ones.

When she looked around the room, she noticed that each of the tables were filled with pumpkins. "Did you invite me down here to make jack-o-lanterns, Professor Snape?" Her voice was joking, but had a twinge of an honest question to it.

"I don't care what you do to their shells. I just need what is inside." Severus handed her a knife, slapping the handle into her outstretched palm with the precision of an operating room nurse. He saw her stiffen from the sting, but made no outward signs of noticing. "And it has to be done the muggle way. I need the seeds, and they must be pristine, that is without magic, as soon as possible." His voice was clipped, and the way his voice sounded with "as soon as possible" made her understand that this was no joke. But she wasn't satisfied with this and wanted him to expound.

"I don't see why you needed me for this," she poked at one of the pumpkins in disdain.

"Because I don't have time for Neville's bumbling, and Crabbe and Goyle are lazy and would, at some point resort to the easy way." For good measure, Snape added, "And among your unfavorable traits, even I must admit, those traits are not part of your makeup. Now if you would-" He waved her away and immediately turned his attentions to the papers before him.

Hermione took off her robe and hung it on a peg on the wall. She rolled up her sleeves and began the assault.

It was slightly chilly in the room, but as soon as she started cutting and scooping she felt her muscles warming up. "What are we doing with all of the empty shells?" She was wondering. Over his shoulder, he said, "We might as well send them to the kitchen because pumpkin juice doesn't grow on trees." He despised this disgusting drink, and thought it apt that the vile creatures running around the castle would obviously drawn to it . "Once we are done, stack them in that cart over there" and he pointed, " Cut them in half, so that they stack and take up less room. Shell out the insides completely, and then we will work through the pulp all at once to extract the seeds. Any more questions?" He sounded annoyed.

"What is this for?" Hermione decided that the direct approach was the only way to go with this professor. If a properly constructed question isn't asked, then the desired answer will not be given, even though she was absolutely certain that he knew what her original question inferred. "Why are you concerned with pumpkin seeds?"

Snape exhaled and turned around to face her. "Because of what the seeds contain. A little known fact (he wondered if she already knew this) is that pumpkin seeds contain properties that assist in relieving pain. In the muggle world, one of the properties that they have been able to pinpoint is an 'amino acid' that they have termed DL-phenylalanine, or DLPA. But there is much more than just that. Even though the pumpkin shell and pulp contains these properties, it is the seed that is far more potent. I need to concentrate this pain reliever. Just consider this as a task for Dumbledore that needs to be completed immediately, since my need for you to be here…and your assistance in this matter…isn't enough to satisfy you." He turned back around and hoped that his last sentence stung her enough that she would leave him alone. And it worked. She labored in silence for the next few hours and he was able to concentrate on the next steps that needed to be done.

Hermione threw herself into this lowly task, partly because it needed to be done for Dumbledore, as her professor suggested, but also because she needed an outlet for her aggravation. Of course his necessity for her to do this was enough. His asking automatically meant that this was important, because he wasn't one to be superfluous. "Does he really think I think this way? Well that's some kind of insult." She mulled this over in her head.

Hermione's fingers began to burn with the acidity of the pumpkins, and the constant wetness. She placed the knife down quietly, so as not to disturb her professor, and wiped her hands. Snape noticed the _vump _sound of the burner she lit. He turned around, and saw that this time, her back was to him. She was warming her hands by the small flame, but he could tell that she didn't need warmth anywhere else on her body. She had pulled all her hair off of her neck, and used two pencils to tack her hair into a bun. Ringlets of hair spiraled down here or there but for the most part it was all off of her to keep her cool. Her shirt was sticking to her back and he knew that feeling all too well. Snape opened the doors of his private quarters and walked in. He came out with a brown ceramic teapot and two matching mugs. He also had a small towel.

Hermione noticed his movements, but she refused to brake her gaze from the flame. She was now feeling a bit stubborn too. She refused to be the first one to speak this time. Hermione looked at him and knew she gave him what her mother would call 'the evil eye'. Snape saw this and knew that she was angry with him. He knew that she deeply resented his last comment to her, but only offered her the towel.

"Here", he said, nudging it once toward her.

She silently took it and dabbed her brow.

"Take a few minutes and drink this." It was an order.

She took that too, as she threw the towel over one shoulder. She looked down at her shirt as she took her first sip. It was covered in orange liquid and she knew that her blouse was soaked. She also knew that she could see through it now. She was still pissed off, and anger just made her insolent and brassy. One hand went onto her hip, she gulped down the tea, arching her back as she downed it quickly, making sure that if he was watching her, he was getting an eyeful. When she was done, she put down the mug carefully, unceremoniously slapped her hands together and rubbed her palms, glared at him silently one more time and went back to work.

Like an efficiency expert, she quickly got into a rhythm and omitted any excess movement. She began making quick work of getting the seeds and pulp into a large vat. Slicing the pumpkin in half, scooping, then spooning the halves together was an inexact science, but she picked up the pace with dramatic speed. Within another two hours she was all but completed with the first half of the task.

While she worked she thought about the muggle science behind the properties. How did Professor Snape come about this information? Did he read muggle science journals? She thought that he would be one to chide anything that came from her culture, including her for that matter—which he proved yet again today with all of his insults. But just by mentioning DLPA, he made her doubt her own beliefs regarding him, thinking that they might be slightly askew. She didn't like the way that thought made her feel either.

As Hermione neared the last three pumpkins, she looked up to see the professor's back. She stretched and heard several vertebrae along her spine pop quietly. With that, she saw his head look up, but he did not turn his gaze toward her. She was still hot and sticky, and pulled her blouse out from her skirt and undid the last few buttons. She thought she might leave it that way, but there were only two buttons left before her shirt would fall completely open. She tied her shirttails into a bow and continued with her degrading work.

She took her time, but knew it was inevitable that she and Professor Snape would soon have to sit down together and sort out this mess.

Upon completing the last of the pumpkins, she realized that she was no longer angry with him. Snape is Snape. That's all she could say regarding her potions professor. At least he is consistent, she conjectured.

She silently placed the knife on the table, she swept up behind him and in a low tone, so not to disturb his concentration, whispered, "I'm ready for you now."

Hermione, however, was perplexed when her voice made his whole body stiffen. She didn't understand why he snapped at her, "Go sit down!" And when he finally did turn around, she noticed that he looked like he had just come back from a war, but couldn't fathom why.


	3. Chapter 3

Evileye Chapter 3

When Harry and Ron arrived in town, their first stop was Gringots. They had decided to purchase a joint gift, and since Ron had become quite good at cards, he had depleted Harry's spending money, as well as many of the other Gryffindor students'. And since he couldn't give any to Molly, for fear of receiving a howler-sent paper cut meant for the jugular, he decided that much of it would go toward Hermione's present. Harry was happy that Ron had found another hobby, but Harry was feeling the brunt of not being as apt at cards as his friend. But he was happy that Ron didn't have to deal with worrying about money this year, even if it was because his friend had become a card shark.

Since they made their decision on what to get for her, it was a relatively painless process. Harry and Ron both uncontrollably winced at the price, but quickly got over it and paid the salesperson. Leaving with their bag, they decided to shop the other stores for themselves. Even though they wanted to give her the gift right away, they decided to wait until breakfast the next morning. They planned to meet her at her door, and give Hermione her gift and wish her Happy Birthday, then walk her to the hall where she could open it.

Ron was famished (again) and they stopped for lunch. Harry was feeling pretty hungry too, so they decided on going to Hogsmeade. After stuffing themselves, the walked slowly back to school, meeting some of their female classmates along the way.

The girls teased them for being without their friend Hermione, and asked if they had "broken up" with her. Ron saddled up to one of them and said, "Sometimes you just have to get out without the little lady and have a taste of the world." Harry rolled his eyes as he groaned, "Oh, brother!" The girls loved this and decided to accompany them both back. Of course they saw the bag that Ron tried to conceal, but they tried to get him to show them what it was. They knew, that whatever it was, it had to be good. Of course some of them wished whatever was in it was for them, but instinctively knew it was for their best "Girl Friend".

They were both enjoying the company of the girls, and Harry and Ron seemed to feed off each other's cues. They both were charming in their own right, but being around these girls seemed to make them work in tandem to get them all giggling and batting their eyes. Harry thought about how wolves work in a pack, but after a few minutes wondered if Ron and he were the predators or the prey.

Ron asked, "All right, which one of you did that?" when he felt a not-so-subtle hand glide over the seat of his pants, but didn't flinch or blush. He grabbed one of the snickering girls and threw his arm around her shoulder. "Hmm, you smell like strawberries, dear." He grumbled into her ear.

Harry felt a hand slip under his arm and he looked over to see a cute raven-haired girl with green eyes smile up at him. "Do you mind if keep you company, Harry?" He felt her hand give him a little squeeze as he shook his head and smiled. "No, I don't mind at all," as he gave her a second look. "And what year _are you_, young lady?" Harry's hand slid over hers as they continued their walk.

Many of the remaining girls decided to head on in, while Harry and Ron got acquainted with their new "friends". The afternoon passed with both of them strolling the grounds with their picks, as their light-hearted joking continued.

Once they got back to school, Ginny immediately told them about where Hermione was.

Ron groaned and Harry shook his head. "Lovely. She'll be in a great mood for dinner, I'm sure!" Ron added. They then headed up to their rooms, put Hermione's present away, then washed and changed for dinner.

Snape lifted a large cauldron to the table, and then placed waste receptacles, one next to his seat and one next to her, under the lip of the table. He then took his seat across from her. "This is what we need to do," Taking a scoop of the pulp from the heap between them, then by using a knife, separated the pulp from the seeds. The movement reminded Hermione of a pharmacist counting pills. When he was done, the pulp was scraped off the table and into the receptacle beside him.

At this point, Hermione was feeling her temperature dipping lower since she stopped her physical activity. Snape could tell as well, as she untied her shirt and began to button the buttons. Hermione asked, "Do you mind if I excuse myself and clean up? I won't use any magic around the seeds, but I do need to get this out before it stains." He told her where the towels were and let her leave the table. Snape added, "Remember, no magic."

She removed her shirt and dipped it into the sink. She turned the cold water on and lathered it with his soap. She actually liked the sent, and tried to pick out the lower and higher tones to the fragrance, but couldn't. Once she was done, she looked at herself in the mirror. She wiped the dried orange goo from her forearms and chin, and then she let her hair down, making sure that there was no pumpkin in it either.

She couldn't help but look at the products he had on his shelf. She even noticed some lotion, so she 'borrowed' some. She also put dab of cocoa butter on the tip of her finger and used it like lip balm. Of course every student who ever had Snape as a teacher said he was greasy and his teeth were yellow, but she knew that his hair was just shiny, and he had a penchant for tea. Sometimes people can be cruel, and she dismissed their comments. She thought that now she had proof that he took care of himself, but she wouldn't be able to back it up, because she came by way of this information while she was shirtless in Snape's bathroom. She shook her head and began rinsing her shirt.

After wringing it out, she took one of his towels and rolled her shirt in it. After unrolling it, she flipped the towel over and did it one more time. Drying it by this method was somewhat effective, and she put it back on once she knew the shirt wouldn't look transparent from being wet. "I bet he'd like that." She added to herself, imagining herself walking back into the classroom drenched. Then she wondered if he would even notice that she wasn't wearing a bra. And then she wondered what she would _have to do_ to make him notice. "Daydreaming," she chided herself, "is a waste of time. Especially right now. What, do you want to get steamed up only to have him cool you off? His personality is the equivalent of a meat locker. Snap out if it!" She folded the towel and left it on the corner of the sink.

She silently returned to the table and began working. Noticing that Snape had left her a piping hot cup of tea, she reached for it and took a sip. This one wasn't quite as strong as the first one, and Hermione noted that it smelled like perfume and tasted like flowers. "Surprising", she thought to herself. There weren't very men who would openly partake in such a delicate indulgence. But then again, they weren't in a public setting at this moment. She wondered if this was something he chose to share with other students who worked for him. She suddenly felt a knot in her stomach, and had a small hope that she was the only one with which he chose to entrust this personal preference.

From time to time she would raise an eyebrow and watch him from across the table. His hands seemed to work autonomously, and she speculated that he was thinking about the next steps required in creating this potion or serum or whatever-it-was that was taking up her entire day.

Occasionally, she would hear him make a noise in the back of his throat, akin to that of a closed-mouth chuckle; the noise that one makes when something is so poignant it elicits a one syllable "hmmpf" of acknowledgement.

Surely he wasn't aware of her frequent glances in his direction, and Hermione began to take longer moments to scrutinize him. She wondered if he always had a crease between his eyebrows. She noticed his lips, and how, when they weren't drawn taut into a straight line, that his lower lip was full and square, but his upper lip came to two peaks. And that they looked very soft…

She sped up her hands, keeping up with the movement of his, less he would find out she was lagging, but her mind kept its focus on him. Would the lines on his face change if he were to smile? Did he ever smile? She had seen him smirk, usually at things others would consider embarrassing or painfully ironic, but she had never seen him outwardly exhibit even a moment of happiness.

Has anyone ever seen him happy? Even though she had a vague idea that Professor Snape was a person with feelings, not the demon that everyone construed him as being, she had never seen him show any emotions other than his shortness of temper.

Unfortunately, ever since Hermione began silently thinking of Snape this way, she seemed to develop a chink in her psychological armor in respect to him. Of course, when his anger was directed at her in the classroom, or if she heard him speak negatively to her, it felt like an arrow finding that small crack and piercing the flesh within. Hermione remembered sourly the countless times that found tears welling in her eyes after some harsh word.

Even Harry and Ron commented that they noticed that, while she would deflect anyone else's unkind remarks, Snape's seemed to hit her twice as hard. They suspected that it was because she sought his approval, because he was an intellectual font, and that she therefore desired to extract every single piece of knowledge from him before her time at school was over. Even if that knowledge came mixed with insult or injury, she was going to endure whatever was necessary to help her succeed in the future.

Hermione knew that the boys were right, but what they didn't know how much she secretly wanted him to _like_ her….That she was the perfect student to teach. Willing, bright, insatiable. If he did in fact enjoy teaching, she was the model student for him. She thought that if he only _warmed to her_, that he would find some respite to the painful dredging he needed to do daily to reach the least-apt students and bring them up to speed.

She knew that whatever he felt fit to show her, she would be able to keep pace with him. She just needed his guidance, and she would, in turn, make him satisfied that at least one student left with everything he had to offer.

With this being her last year, Hermione had come to terms that this wouldn't come to pass, and it made her sad, but slightly bitter as well. Even when he needed her assistance, he was tight-lipped with his knowledge, and meted each piece of information like a miser with gold.

She began feeling her face redden, her frustration getting the best of her. Hermione remembered how she felt when she realized that Snape was in the library. She danced like no one was watching. She felt completely stripped in front of him

Now he had seen her when her defenses completely removed. He saw her in a moment of sheer happiness; of passion. And she felt ashamed that she exposed herself this way in full-view of someone who had probably never felt either of these…And she chided herself for feeling sorry for him because he probably never would.

She separated another portion of the pulp and kept sorting. _Or has he?_ Her beliefs about him, she realized, where completely speculation. Was he able of experiencing happiness? Has he ever lost himself in passion? Hermione could only admit to ever experiencing happiness herself, but then again she was probably half his age, and she was sure that she would experience passion inevitably soon.

She looked at his hands and knew that just above one of those cuffs there was a mark of a Death Eater. He must have felt something akin to passion in order to join them. Even dark passion _is_ passion, is it not, she reasoned internally? What kinds of things was he privy to upon joining that order? Did he lose himself in ceremony, did he throw himself completely into the revelry? Surely he had experienced the carnal side of the festivities, something that even the most doe-eyed Hufflepuffs whispered about with each other in fascination. What secret knowledge did he have about sensuality or at least carnality due to his dealings with those people? Did he enjoy himself or was anything that he did perfunctory? Hermione's head started to swim, visualizing him in a myriad of situations.

As her mind wandered, she saw herself as the more-than-willing recipient of his attentions. Her daydream quickly directed itself toward one she had envisioned several times before. Hermione is working in his classroom, and she cuts herself on the outside of the palm of her hand, from wrist to knuckle. Blood begins running down and she watches it, then looks to where she saw Snape last. He isn't there. She doesn't seem him around, but then she feels him behind her, lifting her and sweeping her into his quarters. He seats her on a stool by the shelves where he keeps his medical supplies. He has forced her hand above her head, because she keeps trying to pull it down to look at it. He is trying to stop the bleeding.

As he reaches for a bottle, he leans into her knees, which quickly relax and part for him. He slides between her thighs as his hand closes around the bottle. Hermione attempts to stand even thought she is disoriented. He pins her back to the edge of the cabinet and applies the liquid suture, which stops the bleeding and keeps the two ends of the wound together. His medical services are complete, but he doesn't move. Her hand is still pinned over her head, and she feels him press himself firmly against her body.

She imagines him tilting her head back by scooping his free hand to her neck and taking hold of it. She looks into his eyes, and she sees his need to have her. His lips brush hers, but then he tightens his hold of her neck and opens her mouth with his tongue, His powerful kiss overpowers her quickly and she feels the twinge of want between her legs. She returns his kiss even though her woundless hand is trying to push him away. She feels him grinding into her, and it makes her tilt her hips to him and open her legs more in hopes of making better contact with his hardness. She is wet and she wants him inside.

Hermione pictures him jolted back, freeing her completely, seeing emotions flash over his face. She imagines that he is wrestling with his desire and wish to remain professional. And his desire wins as he falls to his knees and looks up at her while removing the little piece of lace that is in the way of what he wants. His hands then slide from her knees inward, as he spreads her open and begins expertly licking her. She feels his hot breath blowing over her wet skin, and small kisses that make her legs uncontrollably shake. He removes his mouth and sits back on his heels, while using his fingers to strum her, only occasionally flicking her clit with his tongue to keep the his fingers wet.

He tells her to unbutton her blouse and then place her hands on her knees. He sees her face becoming flush, and he also sees a pink hue race across her chest. His fingers quickly dart over the little nub, causing her to moan. He knows she will be coming soon, and he wants to watch as it happens. She watches his fingers move as she feels her first orgasm at the hands of another. He looks up and then back down, intrigued with watching the little mouth gasp for him, begging for him, and then looking up to see the lust in her eyes. He quietly whispers to her that the muscles that she feels giving her pleasure are the same that will pleasure him, once he enters her...

Hermione used the back of her hand to push back a lock of hair that was stuck to her neck. At the same time, she made purchase of a button with her middle finger and thumbnail, and gently billowed her shirt to cool off again. When she glanced back at Snape, she noticed for the first time, that he was watching her, with his hands still performing their tasks.

Slowly he regarded her. He didn't quickly avert his gaze, but instead seemed to scrutinize her as she had earlier been doing to him. After a few moments, he did break their mutual gaze, returning his eyes to the work at hand. Right before he did this, however, she heard another "hmmpf". With that, Hermione was right back to where she started, wondering if that was a sound of approval or scorn. Wishing it was kindly, but feeling the unwanted stab of ridicule.

It took a fraction of a second for Severus to register the noise that Hermione made when he looked down, but when he did, he shot a look toward her again. She was back to work, averting her eyes intentionally. He knew that sound. She was mimicking the noise _he usually made_ while processing difficult thoughts over in his head. "Was there something you wished to say, Miss Granger?" He said quizzically.

She just looked up, and drew her eyebrows together in a cartoonishly surprised look. "Me? No, why would I have anything to say? We've been working for hours without more than a dozen words spoken between us, and we are almost finished. Why start a pleasant conversation now?"

Severus watched as she poked the side of her cheek with her tongue. She crossed her arms and peered back at him under half-mast eyelids. He didn't understand where this comment came from, or what it was in regards to, so he just ignored the sarcasm all together, or at least tried.

Usually, a smarmy remark like hers would get any other student…what? Detention? A deduction of house points? Severus realized that no other student in his memory had ever even _dared _to use a tone of voice, even _remotely _resembling hers, while addressing him.

This attitude that Miss Granger had been exhibiting was beginning to be rather irksome.

And even thought he did need her help, he thought that by saddling her with this lowly task and by ruining a large portion of her day, he would get back at the little git who got under his skin. But it turned out that he had been making _his own day_ more miserable than expected. Her questioning…her "need to know" every little detail… Her sarcasm and defiance….and her disturbing ability to suddenly infiltrate his subconscious and skulk beneath his skin.

Snape felt the stirring of anger once again, and the sinister tugging of something dark, which he hoped would keep itself unnamed. He realized that Miss Hermione Granger was the reason for these feelings to be drawn to the surface of his consciousness. He thought to himself that if he was to complete his task this night, Miss Granger and her newfound attitude needed to be as far away from him as possible.

Hermione looked up from her portion of remaining pulp and appeared somewhat surprised when Snape quietly stated, "That will be all Miss Granger. You should find just enough time to _primp_ before dinner."

Obviously, she was not the only one who could deal sarcasm.

Not sure what to do with the remaining mess, and being told to stop mid-task, it took her a moment to just place the knife down and take her leave. She had been expecting some reaction from her professor, but this definitely wasn't it. With a huff, she pushed herself away from the table, retrieved her robe from its hook and left without another word.

As she left, Snape was still chewing hatefully on her last words._ She wasn't part of the alumni yet. She should still show some respect. _Snape growled to himself_. And when she leaves here, I hope the halls of this school never see another like her._


	4. Chapter 4

Evileye Chapter 4

Ron and Harry began snickering the moment they set eyes on Hermione. She looked about the worst they had seen her since they had returned to school. Ginny nudged Neville and not-too-discretely pointed toward her, "Doesn't she look stunning when she's angry?" Neville began choking and glared back at Ginny miserably while attempting to dislodge a piece of stew from his throat.

Harry made room for Hermione at the table and cheerfully asked, "So did you get to everything on your agenda?" Hermione growled and crawled into her space. "I take it you've heard." She looked at Ginny and stuck out her tongue, "Ginny, I swear, if Snape needs help ever again, I hope he picks you." Picking up some carrot sticks, she was about to whip one at Ginny, but then overcame that compulsion and took a large bite out of it instead. Harry looked at Ron and said, "Well, I'd like to see her when she's surly!" She then bared her teeth in a snarl at her friend and then reached for some biscuits. Even with the largest portion of the biscuit in her mouth, everyone could hear another growl rumbling out.

After an upturn of the day's events, Hermione found herself enjoying a game of cards with the boys. She knew that Ron was throwing her points, from the minute hearts were broken, and then she realized that it was going to be easy for her to take them all and shoot the moon. "Hmmm", she thought, "what am I going to do with all of that money?" Ron winked at her but kept a straight face.

A few rounds later, and she finally felt her neck muscles release, and with a cup of hot cocoa produced by Harry, she felt as if she was returning to some degree of normalcy. Deciding to opt out of the next round, she knew that Ron was now free to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting third years wanting to test their luck. She patted his back and whispered, "Please do be gentle with the children, dear." To which Ron said, "Spare the rod…you know, love." He then shrugged his shoulders, and smirked.

It was dark, and the three friends made their way toward their prospective rooms. They said their goodnights, and then she was alone. With the door closed, she spun around and began to shrink all of her furniture, giving her an expansive space to release the rest of her still-lingering frustration. She cast a silencing charm so that she wouldn't disturb anyone, and then turned some of her angry, vulgar music to a deafeningly loud decibel, and began to stretch.

Hermione peeked out from underneath her pillow and eyed the rattling door. The noise sounded like the percussion section of some experimental jazz group, but she knew Ron and Harry were responsible for the cacophony. Her one open eye gazed at the time on her alarm clock and she sneered. It was half past six, and she was already turning over ways to get back at them, albeit the plans were fuzzy in her groggy state.

Then she smiled. She knew that whatever they had planned for her birthday must have woken them up early in anticipation. She quickly tip-toed to the door and swung it open, causing both of her friends to fall into her room. Grappling over each other to stand back upright, they both roared, "Happy Birthday!" Then they both looked at her and started guffawing.

Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and cringed when she saw that her hair was in an awful state and she had pillow-creases on her face. She wrinkled up her nose and then had a good laugh at her own expense, "I'm just a dazzling sight in the morning, aren't I?" Harry replied, "I think I am going blind." His hands slapped over his eyes as he continued to chuckle like a little boy.

"All right you two, give me a few minutes and I'll get myself ready."

Hermione started pushing them out of her room, when Ron wisecracked, "Take as many as you need. We might have some time left to catch breakfast." His head ducked but he still caught the brunt of a playful slap.

Since she took a long shower after her night of dancing, she only needed to fix her hair and wash her face. She dressed as she normally would, and decided to wear her hair down. She wet her hands, and ran them through her locks, causing them to bounce back into their proper curls. Once she was finished, she stepped back from the mirror, and was pleased with the results.

She opened her door, and Harry was holding a large gilded box before him. Her eyes got big as she reached for it. "Now you get to carry it," Ron said, "but you can't open it until we get downstairs." She nodded as her fingers closed around the box.

Once they got to the hall, some of the students at her table started causing a raucous. Ginny decided to sing about an old mare, and elicited chuckles from some of the surrounding students. There were several packages on the table for her already, so she sat down in front of them. Of course, she would wait to open the ones without tags, as usual. The ones, though who were presented to her with a name, she happily opened. Finally, Ron asked her to open the one that he and Harry bought for her. There was a hush over the girls at the table, especially the boys' new friends. Even Dumbledore and Miss McGonagall peered over to see the surprise.

Hermione used her fingernail to score the seal, and then she lifted the top to expose a beautiful set of large and perfect pearl earrings, surrounded by a pearl bracelet, which was in turn surrounded by a pearl choker necklace. Hermione gasped in surprised shock.

Ron and Harry watched her as she looked to each of them quizzically. Hermione, half knew it must have been quite a nice present was completely taken unaware at how thoughtful the gift was. And was dumbfounded at how generous it was. "Oh my!" was all she was able to say, smiling even as she felt her eyes brimming with excited tears. On the inside of the jewelry box, was inscribed, "To our most precious friend. Never doubt your worth. You are priceless to us both. Love, Harry and Ron" She finally was able to choke out, "I love the inscription as much as the gift!"

Even though he tried to ignore it, Snape was watching what he considered an over-orchestrated and saccharine display.

Then he felt nauseous when he watched Harry help Hermione with the bracelet, and Ron circle his arms around her neck and close the clasp of the choker. She put on the earrings, and Snape made some snide mental note likening the whole sordid scene with a coronation.

He attempted to draw the cup of coffee to his lips, but then roughly planted it back onto the table. He was one moment away from regurgitating his meal. Instead of waiting for this to happen, he pushed himself away from the table and exited as quickly as his legs could take him.

Before he made it to the door, he heard applause and cheering. With the burn of acid in his throat, he grimaced and hoped that the worst of his day was over. Somehow, though, he had a sinking suspicion that it was just a taste of things to come.

Back in his classroom, he breathed in deeply and attempted to release his muscles. He was alone now, but he dreaded his first and last class for the day. Since Hermione was not only taking his potions class, but his double potions class as well, he was going to have her for several hours.

Severus picked up a cloth and was angrily polishing the top of an already immaculate shelf wishing that he had never gone to breakfast. His unsettled stomach turned. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

Last year was difficult but he found ways of keeping her off of his mind, dismissing his feelings for her as simple amusement. He would find amusement at her awkward attempts at getting his attention, but intelligent ways of speaking her mind.

Before, it was easy to dismiss her, because she was a child. However, if there was such a thing as a teacher's pet, then she was his. He kept this feeling veiled under a bit of sarcasm, so that even the most clever student wouldn't readily see it. And since his most clever student was Hermione, even she had not figured it out. When he did push her harder than the others, demanding more from her than them, he did it knowing she would take the steps necessary to achieve success. If it took being as hard on her as he was on himself, so be it.

Only he knew in his heart that his fondness for her was true. And she would never know his wishes for her to have a good and happy life with someone who was worthy of her.

Last year he even mused that the young girl might be fetching some day, in an unconventional sense, out there in the world, and might find herself an unconventional man to compliment her intelligence, her humor, her quirks.

Last year he found some similarities of himself in her, but now he found none. This year's Hermione was so different from anything he even remotely attributed to himself. He wanted to see her as she was, not as she was now.

This year, she was something to behold. Not one part of her looked unconventional. She was self-confident in regards to her knowledge and speaking her mind. She had come into her own, and was learning each minute to mesh her inner and outer strong points.

This year, she was unintentionally inflicting pangs of desire in every male around her, and she hadn't even the idea of what scope her hold was on them…on him… When he watched her dance, and she was so full of grace, and beauty, and her movements expressed a light so bright it burned. It felt as if she was dispelling the darkest parts of him, but the feeling was fleeting, and he caught full effect of reality. He was a man who had done the most terrible things. Even worse, he had reveled in them.

And in his heart, he knew she was so pure, that an evil man could spill her blood for same reason as he would a unicorn's.

But the look on her face that night in the library was that of the sensuality of happiness. She looked euphoric, and with seeing that, he experienced what felt like heavy stones being heaped onto his heart.

And now he constantly struggled to subdue the feelings that were deepest. He felt the darkness blotting out thoughts of her with someone worthy of her, and in the ink-drenched spots, he saw himself.

He now wondered if he wished for her happiness, or for her ruination so that she would be tainted and therefore obtainable.

Even with Severus' previous angst, the new Hermione caused him to experience a self-hatred so strong, as to create manifestations of acute physical pain…with no hopes of abatement. Because of his new attraction, and because of the horrible wishes for her undoing, the conflicting and complex desires raged within him, tearing at him day and night.

And he imagined that Hermione was somehow aware of his feelings, because every moment since the library, she had been baiting him. One moment she was drawing him in with her overtly physical teasing, which he did notice, and which did affect him. The next he was trying to sidestep her cutting verbal assaults, which seemingly came out of nowhere and for no reason.

The part of him that knew she was pure believed that she was above doing anything of the sort; that _it was only his wish that she wanted him to approach her_.

The darker part of him believed she knew exactly what she was doing, and that her confrontations were spurring him to take her. Somewhere in his mind, though, he knew that it couldn't be the case.

She probably did despise him. She probably thought he was repulsive and lowly. She probably hated him, which was why he always saw her stiffen, and her eyes get red when he was merely trying to throw the other students off his scent, so to speak, hiding his true feelings.

He spun on his heels to the sound of the door being pushed open. The students began to file into his class. Now, in addition to the battle within him, he also had to hide the torment from view. Doing this for just a few days had already been taking its toll. He didn't know how much more he could bear without breaking.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione, Ron and Harry squeezed through the doorway and took their seats. Ron watched as Hermione toyed with her bracelet. "I can't believe you two!" Hermione half-heartedly chastised them again. She slowly shook her head, smiling. Harry and Ron watched as she also ran her fingers over her necklace.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances at each other knowing that they had succeeded in outdoing themselves. She saw their smug looks and gave them one of her own. "Of course, I expect only the best from here on, now that I've been spoiled-"

"A wise observation, Miss Granger." The voice stirred from the front of the classroom, rolled toward the back, and hit its target with precision.

Hermione cringed and both Ron and Harry spun forward to glower at their sharp-tongued teacher. Some of the students from Slytherin chuckled, but for the most part, the room was snapped into silence from the unexpected sting of the harsh comment.

Severus contemplated that many of the students didn't agree with his statement. Then again, perhaps they were able to pick up on their teacher's mood and instinctively keep quiet. Either way, he didn't particularly care.

When he did turn around, Severus panned the classroom and noted that Miss Granger had opted to remain in the back of the classroom, closest to the door. Being in this space, she was alone and had a whole tabletop to herself. Even though this afforded her more room to work, he was accustomed to having her front row center for the last several years. With her all the way in the back, Snape realized that this only caused unrest during his lectures. With Hermione in the back row, he noticed that the students would now turn completely around when she answered a question. Which was often. But he made no attempt to rearrange the classroom.

"Let us continue with yesterday's lesson…" Snape hitched up one leg as he sat on the front of his desk. With his arms folded in front of him, he began analyzing the different potions with similar root ingredients.

Hermione watched him as he tapped his bicep quickly throughout his oration. She knew he was agitated. It was practically the same movement as a Crookshanks did, whipping the tip of his tail when he was thoroughly angry. Something was going to get clawed—it was just a matter of time. Her eyes skimmed over all of the heads bent down in front of her. Everyone was transcribing his lecture except for her. She had learned these 'basics' in her first year on her own accord.

Hermione had received an unmistakably muggle birthday gift from her father, a new silver pen, but to use it during this lecture, she rationalized, would be a waste of time.

Hermione reasoned that to top it off, Snape started the class being rude—why shouldn't she repay like with like?

She was aware of the eyes on her and looked the way her senses told her. Up. Her dark-eyed professor was staring at her, though his mouth recited the day's topic. At first she had the urge to pick up her pen and start moving it across her paper in order to break their gaze. But she didn't move.

Hermione had the sinking feeling that she was making a bad choice, but since she refused to act meek or accommodating for anyone else…"Why should I do it for his sake?" She folded her arms like his, in a perfect imitation, and tapped her index finger in time with his.

Severus' finger stopped, pointing straight up at the ceiling. He hopped off of his desk and placed both hands behind him on the desks edge. The sudden movement and look of agitation on his face made a pair of students in the front row jerk backward, then cower back into their scribbling.

Hermione looked around the class again, then placed both of her palms behind her on the edge of her seat, to mimic him once again. She nonchalantly glanced down to see if her shirt buttons would pop open under the strain of the fabric while in this position, and then looked back at him. Her tongue searched the inside of her cheek.

She kept watching him watch her. His jaw muscles twitched, she noted. Even from the back of the class it was easy to see. Hermione lifted one hand to her mouth, and patted her fingertips over a barely-concealed yawn. The hand went back behind her when she was finished pantomiming her boredom, and she heaved her chest forward in a dreamy but noiseless sigh. _Serves him right_ she thought to herself.

Snape began walking between each row of students. Hermione couldn't help but think that Severus was working his way toward her as slowly as he could. He stopped staring back at Hermione, but she knew that he was going to eventually end up right in front of her. And what kind of rude behavior from her would he disregard then?

With her legs crossed, she began to pop the heel of her loafer on and off, making a huffing sound.

Her uneasiness began to rise though, and she noticed that she had the beginnings of a tension headache. She felt the muscles in her neck tighten with the thought of her insolence. And as far as acting like this in Snape's class, she was felt as if she were teetering on some sort of academic mutiny. She was intimidated by him but at the same time, noticed the telltale signs that she was having some kind of effect on him as well.

Since the library, she felt this sensation welling up inside her every time she was around him. Hermione didn't know why she was pressing her luck. Something inside wanted his attention, regardless of its outcome. She decided to chalk this reckless behavior to her already-too-long list.

Hermione opened her notebook and placed her pen upon the page. They were on stand-by in case she needed some quick diversion. She felt as if the room was getting hotter and smaller at the same time.

With every step he made, the walls seemed to close in on her.

Her hands ran up the back of her neck and she piled all of her hair onto the top of her head in order to feel cooler. This didn't work, so she began blowing air out of the side of her mouth, trying to stop the perspiration from creating little beads of sweat on her temples. He was just rows away from her. She felt pallor creeping across her face.

She watched his countenance change as he approached. He was no longer agitated. He moved with purpose and precision. Even though she knew he was tall to begin with, his actions movement alluded to something much larger and more dangerous.

His long black hair draped over his face and he peered over the shoulders of his students.

His hands folded tightly behind his back. His growl remained monotone throughout his lecture. Each stride was slow, efficient, and menacing.

Hermione felt her body responding to the situation. Her heart began beating harder inside her chest, and she now placed both hands in her lap. Her fingers were laced together and she tried to calm herself, but she felt the unwelcome surge of doubt, "Why should I take notes when I know this? Is he really trying to intimidate me, or am I just becoming intimidated on my own?" Her neck was stiff, and she rolled her head in a large circle to release the knot at the base of her neck.

As she rolled her shoulders back, she realized that she had lost sight of her professor. She immediately located his voice. He was somewhere behind her. She tried to roll her shoulders back again, but this time met with resistance.

Her shoulder blades scraped their way down his chest. She was mortified, trying to figure out why he was standing so close, but the knotted muscle began to tighten even more, and she winced from the pain. Without thinking, she rolled her head back, and it met with Snape's neck. His chest felt hard and cool as stone. The resistance felt good to her. She lifted her head, but she still felt his body pressed against the length of her back.

His voice never faltered but his fingers pushed her forward and slowly skimmed up her spine to the point where her skull and spine met. His thumb and index finger gripped the pain-inflicting muscle in one hard pinch. The muscle quivered, and with a searing flash, the pain increased momentarily but then disappeared.

Her brain recognized the absence of pain, but registered the onslaught of other sensations from his contact. Her body was trembling and she felt as if he had run his hands over the most intimate places on her. She was awash with the need to have his hands on her again. She tasted blood in her mouth, and realized that she had literally bitten her lip in order to remain quiet.

Hermione realized that the moment she felt him behind her, she had closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw one of his hands grabbing her pen and the other hand grabbing her wrist. His body enveloped hers, his arms reaching out in front of her.

With the precision of an operating room nurse, he slapped her pen into the now upturned palm of her hand. Almost every student flinched at the noise, but no one dared to turn around to find its source.

It seemed just a second had passed, but she realized that he already back in front of his desk, with one leg hitched up and his arms folded in front of him. He looked as if nothing had happened. When their eyes met, she knew he saw her lap the blood off of her lip with her prodding tongue.

Her pen continued to move.

As the class ended, everyone gathered their things and silently left Snape's class. Hermione was the first one out the door. She would have left sooner, she thought to herself, if she wasn't so afraid of retaliation from her potions teacher.

In Dumbledore's office, Severus sat in a comfortable chair and reached for his cup of tea.

"I know this is a tangent from my normal class, but I don't see any other way to do this." Severus sipped the steaming brew.

"You would know better than anyone else what this situation dictates, Severus." Albus' fingers were steepled under his chin. "Are you in much pain, my friend?"

"You have no idea" The dark voice rippled in the room.

Dumbledore picked up his cup. "Then you must do as you think is best for them. If it means breaking from convention, change the entire course plan…Especially if it might save some of their lives." His glasses fogged as he sipped.

"I don't know if we have time for any of this. I know something terrible is going to happen…Soon…Let's hope that a few of them will learn enough for when the time comes." Severus silently placed his cup on the table and pushed himself to his feet. "Thank you for the tea."

"The pleasure is mine, Severus." Albus stayed seated and picked up another teacake. "Stop by this evening when we both have more time to discuss this. That is, if you aren't called tonight." Dumbledore already saw what the late night excursions Severus was compelled to attend and what toll it was taking on him. His heart went out to this dark and lonely figure as it crossed the doorjamb and out of his office.

Severus walked through the hallways back to the dungeons. Along with the pain he had come accustomed to throughout the years, he now had other unwanted pangs as well. He thought of Hermione's face, inches from his. In his class, she surrendered to his touch. He knew by her body's reaction.

Severus knew that she feared him, as did all of the students. But when he put his hand on her neck, he knew that she implicitly trusted him. When he grabbed her, she didn't make a sound. When he looked down at her upturned face, her eyes were closed.

He wasn't expecting these reactions from her. Now that he had time to think about them, her reactions were not only unexpected, but unwanted as well. His mind needed to be sharp for the things only he knew for certain were coming.

He felt the power of her response under his fingertips. He felt it along his body as she leaned into him. She had wanted his touch so badly that her reaction was immediate and instinctual. And in that instant, she washed over him and he felt the desire to succumb to her force like a drowning man.

Severus tried to push it all aside, and focus on how he would approach the subject that he was going to explain to his students. His most promising students were in his final class of the day. They needed focus long enough to learn everything in his new syllabus.

Unbeknownst to them, they had been chosen, and if they held anyone dear, then they would do anything to learn what he had to teach.

In between some of her classes, Hermione had just enough time to drop her pocketful of gifts onto her bed, quickly restoring them to their full size. She wanted to begin opening them, but decided to wait until the evening. That way, she thought, she could set up her charms and see if any of the gifts were malicious in nature. "One can never be too careful." She remembered last year's gift from a certain fair-haired Slytherin.

If anyone intended to fill her room with mice, bugs, or any combination of pests, she would know well in advance this time.

The entire day seemed to speed along quickly, and she felt like she had to play catch-up. She headed to her last class and hoped that she wouldn't be late. This morning was too strange, and she didn't want end her birthday with detention. She dared not mention what transpired in Snape's class. If she were to get into trouble for her insolence, she wouldn't want to drag Ron or Harry along with her. And she knew if the boys caught wind of Snape touching her, they would rush into a situation that would kill them both.

Back inside Snape's classroom, the students from the previous session were still cleaning up their potions. He was nowhere in sight. And for a few minutes, she was completely alone. Looking around, she wondered what it would be like to be out of Hogwarts for good. In that moment, she felt so small. She stared into space, and her focus blurred.

It took her seconds to realize that something had entered her field of vision, which gave her a start.

"Miss Granger, if you can rouse yourself from your daydreaming, please pass these out to all of the students when they arrive." A pile of books appeared in front of her, obscuring her view.

Without waiting for a reply, Snape skulked back into the corner of the room where he must have been before she arrived. "Doesn't he ever stop?" She visualized him tearing her last nerve. Was their earlier encounter was still in his mind, or if he had forgotten it the moment after it happened? She wished the books had formed a wall so that no one could see her as everyone arrived.

There were only a handful of students in this class. Since this was an accelerated course, it was for those witches and wizards who had a desire to pursue a career in potions.

These were the same students who competed with her for the best grades. For now, she was still on top. The rivalry, albeit friendly, was always a tension that, if could be strummed with a finger, would reverberate throughout the entire school. As each student filed in, they all looked quizzically at the cover as they took their seats.

She finally read the cover and wondered why they were getting a textbook that wasn't on the syllabus. She was shocked to see the name of the author:

_Emergency Magical Medicine_

A Field Manual

_by Severus Snape_

"Your course description has been changed. Please disregard the outline given to you on the first day of class. This book will be the core reading for the remainder of the term and the other books that you have purchased will be considered auxiliary study material.

There was a murmur in the classroom, which Snape disregarded, "You will memorize the material contained therein, and by the end of the term will be able to create the tinctures, potions and poultices without assistance." He turned his back to the class and began writing on the board. "Any questions? Good."

Everyone looked at each other, and lowered their hands realizing that he had no intention of clarifying, at least not today.

"Open your new textbooks to Chapter One—Mending Deep Wounds and Burns… " Severus turned back to face his students after enough time for all of the questions to evaporate. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that one hand would still be raised. His intuition was correct. Obviously, he thought, she didn't take the hint that this course change was not a subject for discussion.

Without an acknowledgement, he continued his pedagogue. Her hand never faltered. It seemed, as time passed, to become more of an exclamation then a question mark.

She was doing it again, Severus thought. She was trying to get him angry, which was working, especially since he had no idea what possessed her to push him to his limit.

Then she intentionally cleared her throat. Severus noticed that the concerned look that she had at the beginning of the class was now replaced. Now that look was an agitated one.

Was she snarling? Her lip was twitching dangerously close to her nose, and her brow was furrowed. If this was a battle of wits, she was undoubtedly going to lose, he thought to himself.

But that is when she stood, made haste to the door, and slammed it behind her.

And for the first time, Severus stood at the front of his classroom, at a loss for words.

Hermione trudged down the hall, and it felt like her hands were weighted. She could feel her own pulse throbbing within them, like she was holding halves of her heart in each fist.

When they realized what happened, every student in the room froze in their seats. They dare not move, this was understood.

He bounded after her, and they remained deathly silent, for fear that one of them might be the next to feel the business end of his wrath.


	6. Chapter 6

Evileye Chapter 6

When he touched her earlier that day, he had wavered—he didn't want to resist the temptation before him. For that, he knew that there was going to be a heavy price to pay. He didn't realize, however, that he would have to pay so soon.

The unfortunate problem with suppressing one's feelings for so long is that hate, lust, anger, pain, guilt, fear, love—all of these are bottled in the same place. Once loose, every emotion tried to jump into the situation at the same time. The maddening competition made Severus reel. With each step, his thoughts swung between wanting to tear her apart to wanting to tear off her clothes.

Hermione had just made it to the staircase when she felt herself being spun around. In an instant, she was pinned to the column around which the stairs rose.

"Get your hands off of me!" In outrage Hermione spat.

He ignored her demand. Feeling a surge from deep within, and his fingers pressed harder into her flesh. "You will walk back into my classroom, and to the front of the class. You will apologize to your classmates for your insolence. Finally, you will stay in your seat until the end of class. And you will do this, Miss Granger, of your own accord. "

She tried to make purchase of the ground, but her feet were inches above it. "Go to hell. I'm not going back in there with you." All she could do was grab at the sleeves of his robes, her arms anchored to the wall with his hands. She had lost one of her shoes between his classroom and the stairs. She frantically thought of ways to somehow climb out of this predicament. His body was pressing her flat against the stone. She tried to arch her back in protest, only to be defeated by his. She was immobilized without magic. Just the physical strength of this powerful wizard was enough to overpower her.

Hermione felt him lifting her higher, her back scraping along the wall. She was eye to eye with him. His voice was just above a whisper, "Yes, you are. That is unless you want to leave this school and never come back. Just think, not seeing your precious little friends…having to finish your education in a Muggle school…and then living a completely Muggle life. Does that sound palatable to you, Miss Granger?" He searched her face for a response.

She was still struggling, and he could feel her hands enclosed on either wrist. She wasn't going to let go until he did. Since she couldn't close her grip around them, she opted instead to digging her nails into them instead.

"Well, I see you continue to get under my skin," their eyes locked, and he continued, "but you seem to have opted for blood this time. Most students take my demeanor in stride, or at least in fear…_but not you_." His voice implied that she should take this as an insult.

Then he drew his lips to her ear. "For the most part, you have kept your dislike toward me rather passive. Why this hysterical outburst? Is there a reason you choose to incite me? To lash out at me now?"

She gasped when she felt his breath on her ear. His lips grazed her earlobe, and it felt like her pearl earring was humming from the vibration of his voice. "Release me!" Her demand was ineffective. She tried to struggle, but there was barely an inch of her that wasn't covered by her potions master. Her eyes began watering from out of impotent rage. Her red face contorted in anger.

"Not until you promise to obey me." His hands were not squeezing as hard now, since the necessity was gone. His whole torso had her pinned. His face was still buried in her hair. Her nails were still embedded in his wrists. "If not, I will be forced to take this to Dumbledore. You know exactly what will happen. Leaving my class would merit a suspension. Openly disobeying an order, however…."

He could feel her body losing its strength. Her writhing was becoming less energetic. He inhaled, smelling her, and pressed into her again.

Hermione couldn't see his face, but could hear the smirk in his voice, "Without you here to help them pass, it is quite possible that they will also leave this school without any sort of future. I know that you and Potter know how to wash dishes the Muggle way, but I wonder, how will Weasley fare?"

Hermione trembled. Something animal inside her wanted to hurt him, and the feeling of blood under her nails was not enough. He was still imparting threats in her ear when she bared her teeth and bit him. Although there was barely an inch of flesh visible through his buttoned attire, she knew that she had a mouth full of him on the other side of the thin fabric of his shirt.

But she didn't expect his response—She heard him sucking in air through clenched teeth, the sound that one makes when burned. He tilted his head away, and it felt like he was offering his neck to her willingly. She then heard his deep voice groan, "Did you think that biting me would make me let you go?" He was actually pulling his upper body away from her enough to let her see the amusement on his face. There was an increasing ring of wetness on his shirt.

"Make your decision, Miss Granger. Will it be an apology or an expulsion?"

She was acutely aware of the position of his hips in regard to hers. Even in her rage, she was feeling every movement he made. Hermione couldn't stop herself from thinking how aroused this horrid man was making her feel.

She stopped writhing not from exhaustion, but from attempting to quell the unwanted physical reactions she was having. She felt like she was being boiled.

Hermione tried to keep focused. She thought of the moments before she stormed out of the class. Her mind stretched farther back, thinking of Snape's horrible comments… Of her anger… His unwillingness to teach her at her accelerated pace… Disappointment… Of being shut out…Of being ignored-Of being overlooked… Dismissed.

The thoughts flooded in, and she felt like her entire life at Hogwarts had been spent chasing down Snape's attention. Now she had one hundred percent of it, but it still wasn't what she was hoping for. Her mind twisted through ways of extracting herself from this mess. She knew that if she used any spells on him, she was as good as doomed. Her body became completely still.

"Good." Severus murmured when Hermione removed her fingernails from being embedded in his wrists, taking it as a sign of defeat. He still made no effort to put her down, seemingly savoring the moment of victory over his impudent student. She used the only non-magical force she had to repel him.

Hermione had almost given up. Her will was just about smothered, but then he made the mistake of gloating.

Revived in spite, Hermione did something that made Snape freeze. Her look was that of defeat at first, but the one that overtook her face was the wrathful face of revenge.

Hermione's eyes turned dark as she slid the palms of her hands over his robes from his wrist, up his arms, over the Death Eater mark on one arm, and over the throbbing bite on his neck. He couldn't take his eyes from her gaze as her fingers laced behind his neck, her thumbs skimming the hollow behind each earlobe. Hermione pulled at his neck, using him as leverage; drawing her mouth to his. As he gasped in surprise, her tongue slid between his lips and grazed the roof of his mouth.

Her knees opened and she deftly slid them up his sides, crossing her ankles behind him. She rocked her hips forward and back, grinding herself along his length—He automatically began prying her hands from behind his neck and tried to push her off of him. He wanted to believe that this was a dream, because he knew the horrible ramifications he'd have to face if someone were to come across this scene.

As her legs locked around him, and Severus immediately tried to extricate himself from between them. For a second, he questioned his own sanity—he didn't want to believe that this was happening. Not like this.

If this was madness, however, he was positive this is PRECISELY how events would occur.

Every sense was acute, and he could feel her using his struggling to her advantage. She rocked her hips forward again, and he felt his hardness graze between her folds, catching on the cleft, even through his clothing.

He could tell she wasn't wearing anything under her skirt.

Severus finally pulled himself free of her, and took several steps back. He was rubbing his mouth and jaw with one hand, his other hand in a fist, his thumb quickly running in a circle over the clenched fingers. He was outraged and in shock. He realized that it was impossible to formulate a sentence at the very moment.

As he tried to gain some semblance of control, he watched as Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, straightened her clothes, and crossed her arms. She puffed up in pride. Knowing she had lost, she still wanted to go down fighting. Watching his reaction confirmed that he felt her version of a physical blow. "You chose your weapon, Professor. And I chose mine." Her voice sounded admonishing, and had a tinge of guilt.

"Now if you will excuse me, Professor, I believe an apology is in order-" Hermione said as she turned her back to him and began walking back down the hall toward his classroom. She paused momentarily to slip her shoe back on and she looked over her shoulder at him. Then she slowly walked backward down the hall, keeping her eyes on him.

Hermione remembered what Archana said about reading a man's eyes. Even in her inexperience, she could read the turmoil on his face. He wanted her, but hated her because of it. He loathed her for making him want to finish what she had started.

She also could read his body. He was hunched over, and holding himself up by leaning into the wall. There was no relief for him. She had worked him to the point of frenzy, even though he resisted her. Even though he tried to reject her.

He watched her move toward his class. His body wanted to overtake her one more time, if only to force her to finish what she started. Even with everything he had experienced in his life, she had shown him an entirely new agony. And his suffering increased with every step she took away from him.

Hermione then did as he had demanded. To a room filled with the gasps of shocked students, she approached the front of the classroom, apologized, and then took her seat. Of course, she might have just as well not said a word. Snape did not return. When it was time to leave, her classmates fled the scene.

Regardless of rumors that were sure to come, Hermione instinctively knew that the actual events outside Snape's classroom would never be known by anyone else. She knew that he would never be able to talk of it. And she wanted to keep it that way.

Even though she brought about the desired response from him—that he would let her go—she didn't think that he would try to do so as quickly as he did. In a way she was hoping that he would return her embrace, so she could have a chance to reject him. In the back of her mind, it kept nagging her that it looked like he was trying to crawl out of his skin wherever she touched him.

Severus stumbled down the hall to a secret entrance to his chambers. His whole body ached from the encounter with his student. Even though his body was lanky and lean, it wasn't used to such sustained physical exertion. He collapsed into his couch and his head rolled back, his jaw slackened and he closed his eyes. His hands fell limply to his sides. If someone were to walk in on him now, he would have looked like a vampire had just sucked him dry, and discarded his carcass there.

Visions of the event played in his head, out of sequence. He felt himself prying himself loose and the way his body felt instantaneously bereft of her touch. He felt the tingle of the tip of her tongue and the surge within him, hardening and throbbing into action. He could smell her scent of frankincense and arousal, feel her firm grip on the back of his neck and her lips working at his, begging for a response, to be filled with his tongue—pleading to be allowed to roam over his body—And the reoccurring thought that came out of nowhere… Not like this… Severus tried to rationalize why this kept hearing this in his mind. Like a loop, it repeated, but he didn't understand why…Not like this…

Hatefully, he bellowed out to the empty room. "If not like that, then like what?"

The self-loathing thoughts that ran through his head confirmed that she would never have kissed him, never would have attempt to pleasure herself by grinding into him, never would have aroused him, had it not been a cruel but effective weapon. She would never willingly offer herself to him out of desire. His self-hatred continued—She would have to be mentally unfit, if she would want to let you inside her.

But the seed was planted, and the thought took root. He did want her. Wanted her to touch him. Wanted to have her clawing at him, breathless. He wanted to have her, but he couldn't allow himself to be manipulated.

~~

In the middle of the night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two screams echoed throughout the halls. One from the dungeon depths and one from Gryffindor Tower.

The evil history behind each mark differed, but the signal it transmitted was almost identical. One considered it a beacon, the other an evil omen.

Within minutes the young man, awash with sweat writhing in intolerable pain was swiftly whisked away personally by the silver-haired wizard to the infirmary. He was still covering the thunderbolt-shaped scar as if a knife was embedded in it. His friends were beside themselves, unable to help or even rouse him in the slightest from his agony. The young man eventually began to quiet in the presence of this ancient one, but still seemed to be holding his head together against the splitting pain.

The other scream died out like a burnt match. Once it was expended, the dark figure took to dressing his lanky body with warm clothes and a cloak.

In the first few seconds of the scream, he had unwittingly attempted to gouge the mark out of his arm. The bleeding had stopped, but the clear plasma was still oozing from his skin as he located his secret exit along the farthest corner of his bedchambers and made haste. There was a meeting to attend.


	7. Chapter 7

Evileye Chapter 7

Patches of moonlight shone through the black woods bordering the school as Severus moved from one shrub-congested path to the next. He felt the damp coldness as he skulked his way toward his mental beacon. The fog was thick and rose to knee-height, and he adjusted his speed for a more sure-footed pace.

His shirt was now adhered to his arm at the place where he had clawed at the mark. Each small swing of it tugged at the wound. He was close. He knew only because of the increasing pain. Once he arrived, the pain would cease… If Voldemort willed it, of course.

The moment he left the passages of the school, he began to forge mental armor. He assumed his former identity as he walked…felt his shell harden. If he were to unveil himself, his fellow Deatheaters would see the Severus they all came to know and hate. The opportunist. The sadist. And all the while, maintaining an air of indignant boredom that went unrivaled.

Ducking under some low branches, Severus saw a glow in the distance. It was not the color of silver moonlight. It was the light emitted by a large bonfire. There were dozens of hooded figures around the fire. Their hands tucked within the sleeves, in the style clerics. Severus understood the reasoning for this. No faces were to be shown. Not like the old times. Not yet.

Any one of them could be Voldemort himself.

In the recesses of his mind, he kept his true feelings imprisoned.

Upon entering the circle, Severus felt the pain subside. He assumed a similar stance and waited. Severus' eyes were fixed on the trodden grass as he heard the voice. It seemed to come from everywhere, but was just over a whisper. Severus caught snatches of words, but couldn't quite put them into context. He was too concerned with the fact that he was being sapped of his strength.

Knowing that this would happen, so that the Dark Lord could restore himself to full strength, Severus began to realize that Voldemort was more powerful than he expected; To be able to drain him this much, this soon. The probing he felt in his mind was checking for resistance, and possibly more. He offered himself and stood still.

After the first few minutes, he was able to understand what was being spoken. To Severus, the voice seemed to quietly lull each attendee into submission. The voice was like the stranglehold of a python, cinching tighter on its prey with each exhale.

_I will be ready soon. I will regain what was lost…you will all receive rewards for your loyalty… More than you can possibly imagine…_

Severus heard the first person drop to the ground, then the next. As the time passed, he heard more fall from exhaustion. In the end, the voice simply stopped. He did not try to see how many were left standing. He simply turned and walked slowly away, to the small opening in the woods that led back to his home.

Ron slipped his hand inside Hermione's as they sat inside Gryffindor tower's common area. She squeezed it in appreciation. They talked in hushed tones even though they were the only ones remaining.

"He's going to be okay-" He was no good at consolation.

"Ron, we just don't know that, now do we. I'm not a kid anymore, and neither are you. Don't you just think Harry's just been on the lucky side? I mean look at what happened at the tournament. Cedric's luck ran out. Sooner or later, all of our luck is going to run out."

Hermione's eyes shot up as Ron yanked his hand away. He looked like she just burned him.

He looked angry now, "And WHO made you the authority on Fortuna's Wheel? Professor Trelawney?!" He shook his head. "Look, you look tired. I feel tired. We aren't going to figure out what is going on tonight…and your parents are going to be here first thing in the morning. Hagrid is picking them up at the station…remember?"

She smacked her forehead and released a little cry of frustration. If her mother saw her with dark semi-circles under her eyes again, she'd never hear the end of it. "Okay, Ron, you win. Let's go." He escorted her to her wing, his arm around her shoulder. Once he got her to her door, he wished her goodnight, turned and stuffed his hands into his pockets, making his trek back to his wing.

When she entered her room, she saw all of the presents that she hadn't yet opened. Thinking back on the day's events, she looked into her mirror and removed her new jewelry and put them back into their box. She ran her finger over the inscription. She wondered if Harry had any clue of what he meant to her. As she fretted, she chewed on her lower lip.

She started clearing off her bed, and decided that the presents could wait until the morning. The last one, though, she didn't remember seeing before. The script on the package was elegant but exacting. It didn't look like a student's penmanship. She walked it over to her window box and sat down on the cushions. Taking the proper precautions, she checked for hexes and finally began to unwrap the package. Inside was a reddish-black leather-bound book.

She opened it, and a note fell out.

It wasn't a birthday gift, she supposed. It just read: "For your studies".

There was no name on the binding or the cover. Inside were hand-written spells. Many of which she had ever seen before. She slammed the book shut and left it on the cushions. She walked back to her bed. It was hot, and she picked out a gauzy nightgown in which to sleep.

She kept one eye on the book as she got ready for bed. It made her slightly uncomfortable to have this book in her room, since she had no idea about its origin. As she lay down, Hermione tried to force herself to sleep…, which didn't work. After an hour, she crawled back out her bed, relit all of the candles, pushed open the windows and sprawled in front of the book.

She knew that she could charm herself in the morning, so that she wouldn't get the third degree from her mother. She wanted to see if these spells were viable or not.

Strangely enough, she had the feeling that whoever wrote these down had categorized them first. At a cursory glance, they seemed to be in order of increasing difficulty and type. She marveled that there were no mistakes in the transcription. The only things missing from the book were the name, the index, and the glossary.

Someone had chosen to send her a very personal reference tool. She thought of the only other people she knew of that had ever received "mystery gifts", but there was no way that she was going to bother Harry with this, or frighten Ginny.

She would have to wait until the morning to mention it to him. In the meantime, she was going to take advantage of it, and see what she could learn. She was engrossed in few more chapters before she decided to pull out her quill and some paper, and make her own reference guide.

Once Severus exited the forest, he began his journey back to the school. The sky was purple, with just a line of red on the horizon, and the wind had picked up quite a bit. He was weak and his stomach was growling. He kept his eyes on the ground, while his mind kept searching for any lingering sensations of contact with Voldemort.

Severus realized that he had to keep his guard up, and keep more of his prior persona at the surface now. It alarmed him to feel that tightness on his mental and physical reigns so powerful and so soon.

It seemed that the Dark Lord had made good use of his time. Somehow he devised a way to have something feed him with necessary power. Severus had the distinct feeling that the night's meeting was wholly unnecessary and nothing more than a symbolic flexing of muscles. Nothing more than a roll call.

As he closed in on the castle walls, he heard a flapping noise and looked up. In the nearest tower, he noticed that two windows were open, and that the draperies were being sucked out of its room, smacking against the windowpanes. The diffused glow of light made a small arc around the window. It took him only a second to realize that this was the Gryffindor Tower. As he backed away from along the building, he was able to see a set of toes, then feet, then ankles, until he had backed far enough away to see the entire length of Miss Granger, who was laying on her stomach—tapping her toes against the window's turret. She was propped up on her elbows, and her right hand was scribbling furiously; the quill making jagged movements in her grip.

He watched her rake the hair away from her face, and flip it over her shoulder. She was obviously deep in thought, chewing her lip was a dead give-away. From where he was standing, it looked like she wasn't wearing anything, the wispy material being backlit.

His stomach growled again, this time loudly. Even though she was too far away to hear, he noticed her look toward him. Could she sense him out here? He looked down and stood still. From where she was, as long as she didn't see his upturned face, all she would see was blackness.

Hermione looked down, and surveyed what she could from her high vantage point. She felt like eyes were upon her, but since she had been reading for hours without a break, she could only see blurry dark shapes below. She couldn't shake the feeling, though, and decided to close the windows and curtains.

She stood up in front of the open window. She stabilized herself by reaching up and grasping the stones above her head. She leaned forward and looked directly down at the view below. One of the spells she read was for breaking a fall. She wondered if she would be able to break her own if she were to jump—

Severus stepped forward and stopped, then stepped forward then stopped, each time she leaned out further from the window. He felt the jolt of attraction, thinking that this would be what she would look like if her hands were tied above her head, the negative thoughts far outweighed this one. On the third time, he felt the stirrings of anger because she was stupid enough to put herself in a dangerous situation like this, and that she was keeping him from quelling his hunger by visiting the kitchens. He continued toward his private entrance without looking back.

For just a second, Hermione thought she saw a flap of something dark, just at the corner of the castle, but in a flash, it was gone. She looked up at the sky as she closed the windows, shutting herself inside.

Hermione ran down the stairs just as Hagrid pushed open the door. Hermione's mother was the first to appear, peeking around her giant escort. She shook his hand and then she hugged her daughter. Hermione's dad was the second one in, or whoever it was behind the towering packages that obscured his view. She grabbed a few from the top and peeped, "Hello! I thought it was you!"

Once the greetings were out of the way, Hermione's mom stated matter-of-factly, "Let's go visit Harry. Hagrid told us what happened, and we want to check in on him before anything else." Hermione was so relieved, that she made a mental note to thank Hagrid later. She might even offer to take Fang out for walks for a week. Thankful as to not needing to find a suitable time to tell her parents about anything bad, she led them up to Harry's bedside. He was already up and eating breakfast when they came in.

More motherly than clinical, Hermione's mother tested Harry's forehead, looked into his eyes, and checked him best she could under the scrutinizing gaze of Madame Pomfrey. Hermione's dad waited until he could get his hand close enough to shake Harry's. Harry then got a large hug from Mrs. Granger and a peck which made him turn red, still unaccustomed to such affection.

Mr. Granger pulled up a chair asking Harry if he needed anything, while Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs Indian-style. She shook Harry's feet and looked him in the eye. "Really, Harry, are you feeling better?"

Harry told the truth. "I still feel it, but it's a dull ache now. I feel a little weak, but pretty much able to function, I think." He peeked around Hermione and tried to convince Madame Pomfrey into letting him go. She crossed her arms and shook her head, resolute to making him stay at least one more day.

Ron entered the room and shaking Mr. Granger's hand, got the same hug from Mrs. Granger. He too turned red as she applied a pink lipstick ring on his cheek as well.

"Hey, Harry. Ready to get out of here yet? We've got things to do." Of course he was referring to practice, even though he knew there was no chance. He sat next to Hermione and punched the sole of Harry's foot. They all chatted for a bit, but Hermione noticed that Harry was looking tired and elbowed Ron, nodding toward the door. They all took the queue though, and stood to go.

Everyone left, except for Hermione, who quickly gave her best friend a hug herself, and let him know she'd be back later, even if he was asleep, just to be there if he needed anything. He smiled and settled back into his pillows, as she took his glasses from him and placed them on the bedside table. She watched him through the sliver of open door for a moment before closing it, then ran to catch up with her family and Ron.

They went to a small, cozy sitting room off the front entrance, with some chairs and French doors that led to a manicured garden outside. Hermione began opening her presents from her parents, and when she was through opening the pretty packages of bath products, clothing and perfume, then her mother produced another package from her large travel bag.

It had several stamps on them, and she noticed Archana's writing all over it. It seemed that she had been carrying it for several days, and was using the outside packaging as extra correspondence: "Today I went to Café Du Monde for café au lait with some friends. Pictures to come." And, "We went into the bayou on a pontoon boat and then went to some 'Haunted Mansion'. Strange!"

Hermione gingerly picked off the tape and finally got inside. She would read the rest later. When she opened up the package, it looked like an eye staring back at her. She cringed for a moment and then realized who sent it. She then let her guard down and laughed. She took what ended up being a necklace out of the box, and read the card inside.

Dear Hermione,

I would have sent you a Hurricane (the local drink), but I couldn't figure out on how to get it to you. This will have to do for now.

I bought this for you at a small voodoo shop. It might not be your thing, but I couldn't help it. I picked it up and knew that this was for you. It is called an 'evil eye'…don't worry-I'm not sending you 'bad mojo'. It is supposed to protect you from it, supposedly.

Well, kiddo, miss you a lot, and hope to see you soon. I should be coming home, but maybe not. If I don't, expect tickets in the mail. You've got to see this place.

Your friend,

Archana

Hemione placed the necklace back into the box, smirking at the strange and uncomfortable looks it was receiving from her mother.

Tapping it, she reassured, "Mom, it is just glass, really!" Her mother just cringed and shook her head. Her father winked and chimed in, "Yes, dear. Archana could have sent her some chicken feet and someone's toe." He then grimaced, thinking that maybe he shouldn't have said it, meeting the eyes of one teacher who glared into the room. Mr. Granger pointed in the direction of the door, and Hermione craned around the headrest to see whom it was.

"Pardon me, Mr. and Mrs. Granger." He was curt, and then directed his next statement to Hermione. "A word."

She looked quizzically at Ron and then stood up from the chair. Professor Snape had vanished from view, obviously stepping out of hearing range. Not good, she thought to herself. He was waiting in the doorway of a nearby classroom.

She silently took his cue and closed the door behind her. Her happy feelings drained from her as if she were in the room with a dementor. She stood with her back to the door.

"Do you plan on having them here all day?" Snape asked.

"THEM?! You mean my PARENTS, Sir? Yes, I plan on spending the entire DAY with them." She immediately was pushed into the defensive. "With all DUE respect, is there a reason why you would need to know?"

He shot a look at her but held his ground. "I thought you would be of some use with another project. I am asking you simply because your parents are here. Otherwise, it would have been an order."

"I can't believe this. Isn't there ANYONE else here that could be of use—"

"No, Miss Granger, there is not. Since you've already seen the positive effects of our last endeavor, I thought you might be interested in assisting me—

Hermione was caught off guard from his quick response. And this time it was her turn to cut in. "What are you talking about? Our last endeavor? What positive effects?"

He didn't appreciate being cut off, so he intentionally dragged out a few seconds before responding, making her realize her mistake.

"Mr. Potter stopped screaming just an hour before you came in. Had it not been for our potion, your parents would be disturbed by what they would have seen in the infirmary."

She carefully weighed his words. She didn't think to ask if Harry had taken anything for the pain. Knowing that he was in pain all night made her sick to her stomach.

"Would after dinner be acceptable?"

"I guess it will have to do. Now if you'll excuse me—" He motioned for her to move away from the door.

Suddenly feeling foolish, she opened it for him, but he reached above her head and allowed her to pass under his arm. She squeezed through the gap, and rushed back to her company.

She breezed back in, just in time to see Ron jump out of his chair. "What did Snape want?"

Her parents exchanged looks, and both said, "THAT'S Professor SNAPE?' Out of the side of his mouth Hermione's father mentioned the name "Sister Stoneface" to his wife and she too cringed, realizing the implications of his inside joke.

Trying to change the subject, Hermione said, "Well, anyone for Hogsmeade?" trying to make light of the situation. "If so, we had better go now. I've forgotten that I've signed up for an extra assignment, and I must finish it this evening." Ron looked as if he were about to say something, but she stopped him with a furrowed brow and a head shake "NO" as she drew her finger up to her lips behind her parent's backs as they put on their jackets, effectively making him shut his mouth.

She loved her parents, but really, the less they knew about bad things happening, the better. And the feeling that she was getting from Snape for this particular assignment didn't quite feel good, whatever it was going to be.

The day went considerably well, Hermione thought, considering her best friend was still in pain. Ron came along with them, and helped in cheering her up. They ate and shopped for several hours, and as soon as she thought it was appropriate, asked if her parents didn't mind if they called it a day. She really didn't want to go, but realized that every minute Professor Snape had to wait would be a black mark in his book against her.

They said their goodbyes and she got several last kisses from her mom and dad, and finally they walked toward Hagrid's cottage for a ride back to the train. Hermione broke into a run, and tore into the dining room. She ran up to Ginny, panting, "This should be your turn."

Hermione grabbed the sandwich Ginny made for herself from Ginny's plate, and ran back toward the doors. Ginny wailed in protest, but Hermione ignored it as the doors shut behind her.

Ginny picked up another slice of bread, spread a layer of cranberry sauce on it, and began to assemble another turkey sandwich.

On the other side of the closed door, Hermione bit into the strange sandwich, and thought to herself, "Ginny, you are SO weird."

When Hermione entered the dungeon, she had a scowl on her face, not expecting to see anyone but Snape. She was surprised by the vision of Dumbledore and quickly changed her posture and countenance.

"Miss Granger, there is something we both need to discuss with you." Dumbledore started. Severus remained silent. Hermione found the look that she lost on Severus' face. His displeasure was visible.

She felt the beginning of a flop sweat. Did she fail something? Was she being put back a grade? The thoughts raced through her head.

"You see, there will be some changes on Monday, in the class schedule for several students. Professor Snape's revised class will be taken over by Madame Pomfrey, and moved into the infirmary. We all believe that this is the best course of action for the students.

"Because of certain events, though, I have found it necessary to advise Professor Snape to pick one student for specialized training." Albus waited for a few seconds to let Hermione understand the serious nature of what he was saying. "While the other students show their discomfort at burns and cuts and worse, you, however show the detached curiosity of a muggle medical student. That is what we need here.

"Severus, please show her—" Dumbledore directed Severus by pointing toward his sleeve.

Severus' eyes locked onto Hermione as he rolled up his sleeve. He watched her, but she didn't recoil. She didn't gasp. She walked closer to see the mark. She leaned in to take a closer look. He felt her breath graze his skin.

"We believe that the reason Professor Snape's mark is so dark is the same reason Mr. Potter is in pain." Professor Dumbledore was about to continue, when Hermione raised her hand for him to kindly stop.

"I'll do whatever needs to be done, Professor Dumbledore. I'll help in any way I can." Hermione felt the words come out easily, but then she felt the choking sensation that comes with fear. It felt like a chunk of ice stuck in her throat.

Albus walked up to Hermione, patted her on the head like she was a first year, and then made his way out of the room. "I will leave you two alone then, to work out the details. Oh, before I forget," he turned back to Hermione and handed her a scroll.

Quizzically, she broke the seal and read the contents.

It was a certificate stating that she had met all of the requirements for graduation. Another scroll stated that she was to remain at the school as an apprentice "to Madame Pomfrey and others."

Hermione read this several times, and realized that it was submitted to the Ministry. It was a reason to keep her safe in the school with her friends, and allow her access to her new focus.

While she was to report to the infirmary for one hour each day, every remaining hour of study was to be spent in Potions.

"Miss Granger, please let me know if this schedule will pose any problems for you now, while there is still time to change if necessary."

Hermione stared at Professor Snape and repeated, "Professor Dumbledore, you said this is being done because of what is affecting Harry. I'll do whatever needs to be done. Nothing needs to be changed."

"Good." Albus left without another word. The door closed quietly behind him.

Hermione watched as Severus began to roll his sleeve back down, but she stopped him by placing her hand over his. She asked, studying the mark, "Does it hurt you?" She didn't touch it.

"Yes." He finally spoke. He remained still.

After glancing up quickly, she placed her finger down onto his skin and lightly traced the mark. It was hot to the touch. She felt a wave of dread the second she made contact with it. Her hands trembled but she continued to study it.

She had almost finished one evolution around the mark when he tugged his arm away from her. "That will be enough. If you are finished with your gawking, we have work to do."

Not expecting such a quick movement, she jumped away from him.

Every word she refrained from using came to mind as he turned his back to her and began writing on his blackboard. "Miss Granger, you will see to it that we get more pumpkins." He said over his shoulder.

She wondered how good it would feel to hurt him as she made her way down to the kitchens.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Chapter Notes:_

_***Author's note. Interesting, this is still one of the chapters I wrote about years and years ago. Of course, I knew nothing of Sectumsempra at the time, so I've decided to leave it as I wrote it. Please give me license to do so. Once again, we are nowhere near canon now, and completely AU. Hey, isn't every fanfic AU anyway when you think about it?_

* * *

Evileye Chapter 8

Hermione spent a restless night pouring over her new book, finding more innovative and useful spells and potions with every turn of the page. Many of them read like Chaucer, melodic and intriguing. She kept her notes, cross-referencing as she went. She even mused that her compilation would be an asset to this fabulous composition. It must have been someone's Book of Shadows. She studied the condition, and knew that it had been well maintained. It was important to someone, which led her to the thoughts of the unknown previous owner. And then she wondered about who the sender of this gift was.

It wouldn't have been Dumbledore; there were too many passionate spells. It couldn't have been MacGonagall; there were too many dangerous things in it. And it couldn't have been Snape, or he would have at least mentioned ONE of these potions in his teachings…or would he? She mused that if it were the case, that would be it, since he seemed to focus on all things difficult, and these potions would be perfect for downright havoc on a test.

She heard the Gryffindor girls getting ready for Monday morning's classes: The giggles, and the sound of slippered feet scuffing up and down the passage sounded odd since she was usually already bathed, dressed and in the common room by this time.

Hermione remembered that she had been up half the night and into the early morning in the dungeons.

Recalling the wordless interaction with her Potions teacher, since she had been told her responsibilities last time, Hermione stopped herself before the thoughts even began. "No, he couldn't care less if I remembered everything or not. Probably didn't even care."

Digging into her bunker of covers, Hermione wanted to stay there where it was safe, warm and peaceful. Bliss.

After wrestling herself out of her cocoon, she struggled to waken herself and get dressed. Frequent yawning was not a good sign, she thought. The whole day would be insufferable. In front of the mirror, she rubbed her face like a man contemplating a good shave.

Ron propped his head up, knuckles at each cheek, not quite believing Hermione's story as she unloaded facts over breakfast. At first Ginny grinned, then changed her mind, realizing what this had to mean—something really, really bad.

It was the first time Ginny looked grown up in Hermione's eyes.

Hermione was going to be helping Harry get better, and learn things that she wouldn't have access to otherwise.

Hermione leaned forward speaking quickly and quietly so that eavesdroppers wouldn't be able to catch the gist of the story. It wasn't her place to tell the whole student body what was happening in and outside the school. She didn't want to cause panic. When the time was right, Dumbledore would let everyone in on the secret.

"No good deed will go unpunished." Ron wasn't kidding.

He pointed his finger accusingly at her, backed up by the banger in his grip, "See where your studying got you, Hermione?" Afterward, he bit into the sausage and chewed angrily.

Ginny stopped eating all together, and stared down at her plate. "If I could, I'd change places with you." Hermione could see a look of pain that she wouldn't acknowledge in front of Ginny's brother. That would have to be addressed later. Hermione knew how Ginny felt. They both loved Harry, but in wholly different ways.

It was for this reason alone, that Hermione omitted the fact that Harry was in agony and had to be sedated in order to get the pain under control.

"That's alright. You've always said in the past that I'd do anything for knowledge. This, I guess, is case in point. See you tonight…I hope." Hermione stalked off leaving Ron and Ginny sitting next to each other in silence.

On her way down to the dungeons, she thought about the night before.

She and Snape were both silent. If they were silent for the same reason it was no consolation. After Dumbledore had left, she had touched him with curiosity, but also slipped out of her usual character and showed, albeit clinical, compassion toward the man she once considered most vile.

And he allowed her.

Once she had returned from the kitchens, the event went unmentioned. Something inside her, though, screamed for it to be probed further…tabled, labeled and thoroughly discussed. But the rest of her fought to subdue that urge, and won.

"Do you understand the word 'Apprentice', Miss Granger?" The first words out of his mouth were smooth, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that they were rehearsed. This question was definitely rhetorical.

Even with the lower ceilings of the dungeon classroom, it felt like the room was immense with just the two of them in it. She felt like she was in the center of the Quidditch field, with all eyes upon her. With Snape being the only other person present, she marveled at how he could produce such a response.

She sat in the first seat at the first table in the classroom, nearest her professor's desk. He didn't look up when she came in, knowing full well it was her. He continued pouring over the text before him.

"I am sure you do." His eyes flicked up at her, like a lapping flame, and then he continued reading. "Although I am now your 'Master', in the company of others, you will still refer to me as 'Professor'. This apprenticeship not only protects you, but the way it is has been structured was to ensure ambiguity. Keep your mouth shut, and keep your training to yourself. The same basic rules still apply. Don't be late, which you are, as of five minutes ago." He stood and closed his book.

He removed his cloak and Hermione watched as he began to walk around his desk. Her mouth began to protest but she was distracted by his movement.

"But-" Hermione attempted to interject.

He began to unbutton his jacket, one small black pearl button at a time. He slid out of the jacket and placed it on his desk. "Don't interrupt me. It seems to be your new bad habit." Walking over to the dungeon door, he locked it and turned back to her. She nervously craned around to watch him. He uncuffed his shirt and pulled the tails free from being tucked into his pants. He removed his shirt and dropped it on the closest desk.

Hermione watched him advance, her jaw felt like it had been wired shut. The tension made her teeth hurt. She would have never dreamed for him to look like this, and certainly never dreamed that he would ever really do this in front of her.

He was lean, and she could see his muscles move just beneath his pale skin. His pants were tucked into his riding boots. Exceptionally tight, and laced in the front, the vision seemed odd to her. For Merlin's sake, he was almost completely undressed.

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to keep her eyes from drying out. She stood, eyeing ways to escape from this panic-striking situation.

"You will do what I tell you, without hesitation or second-guessing. If you are able to perform per my requirements, you might gain your own mastery some day. " This jolted her back to reality. "Sit back down."

With those words, she felt her knees buckle beneath her, and she was lucky that the chair was still there, otherwise she would be flat on her back looking up at her half-nude teacher.

"I'll stress only one more time, nothing we do or say leaves this room. Not one thing." He was so close to her that she could smell the scent of his soap. "What I teach you here might affect everyone close to you."

He checked her face for acknowledgement. Finding what he was looking for in some subtle reaction, he put some distance from between them. "Are you ready to begin?"

She nodded, realizing that her voice had failed to follow her from the great hall to the dungeon.

"Very well." He lifted his wand from his desk and with a flick, a dressing mirror appeared in front of him some twenty paces away. Let us see what you have learned to date in my class." He turned toward the mirror and pointed.

His voice was icy, and she saw his body harden in preparation for the blow. "Lacerate!" The spell ricocheted off the mirror and hit him in the center of his chest. Chards of light burst against him, shredding his skin deeply, radiating from the point of contact. It knocked him backward and into the wall. He slid down it and looked up at her as he profusely bled.

She launched herself out of the chair, pulling out her wand before she even realized she was moving and aimed at her potions professor. She screamed the first mending spell she could call to mind. "Reparo!"

"—Is for articles, not for mending flesh, Miss Granger" Snape droned as she watched him drag one hand over his chest, holding the deepest wound closed. The naggings of panic began to pull at every inch of her.

Her vision began to blur. She was hyperventilating.

She grabbed the next spell that came to mind. "Suturum Epidermis!" She fell to her knees beside him, pointing her wand at the wounds.

There was a slight hesitation, but the gashes began to close. She dropped her wand and ran her hands over his chest and stomach, making sure that she didn't miss one. Her fingers searched his skin like a poor man looking for a lost diamond in a carpet.

Finally, she felt his hands encircle her wrists as he lifted them from his chest. "They are all gone. Rest assured." He stood and immediately retrieved his shirt and put it on. He had to step over her to do it, leaving her on the floor near the pool of blood.

She pushed herself off the ground, and stood, the blood dripping from her hands.

"You will always resort to what comes naturally, Miss Granger. That is why you are here: To train to the point where the right way is second nature…the first time around." He turned to face her and caught a wet, red handprint across his face.

She went to hit him again, but her hand was grabbed mid-swing. "That is quite enough you hot-tempered little girl." He breathed in heavily, his chest expanding-revealing the definition in his form that she never would have guessed.

He could see she was still contemplating another swing, but he coolly exhaled, "Hit me again and class will be over. Indefinitely."

She tried to retract her hand, but he held tight. After a brief pause, he expelled her from his grip with enough force to make her stumble back a few paces.

Severus closed the gap, noting the spark of fear present in her response. Hermione knew when she crossed the line. She cradled the offending hand close to her chest.

"This was a test, which you passed by narrow margin. Others have learned this way, and so must you. "Do not take it personally, or we will be fighting with each other every minute you are down here."

The threat worked better than he expected. Looking shocked, she took a seat.

Her reaction was fully expected. He had tested her knowledge, more importantly also her immediate reaction of humanness. That, he thought wearily, needed to be stripped away from her.

She needed to become less driven by the overbearing urge to suppress pain and remove suffering, and more driven by the necessity to perform.

He needed to strip her of every emotion that had made her who she has become in order to do this. She needed to see the worst-case scenario and know how to deal with it.

That, Severus rationalized was a painful process, for not only her, but for anyone who would need to do it. Her slapping him was, in essence, her trying to hold onto her humanness. She hit him out of fear. He had startled her. She hit him because of anger. She was angry that he would hurt himself so that she could learn. For this, he'd let her get away with slapping him…once.

Donning the rest of his clothes, he began the lesson without further delay. Silently gauging her subsequent physical queues for shock. He acted as if there was nothing wrong with what he did, how he went about it, and what he made her do to him.

Inside, however, Severus felt the conflict within. He had dreamt about her ruination, but now that it had begun, at his hands, no less. He knew that over time, he would be watching little parts of her disappear; little parts that she would never get back, parts that would sputter out and die. And for that, he hated himself just that little bit more.

As the lesson progressed, dinner came and went. Since Hermione had made no motion to leave, he just continued. He eventually drew the session to a close, feeling the tingle in his arm turn into full-blown pain.

"Since I am feeling the effects of my mark, Potter is probably feeling pain as well." He reached into his robes, "Take this with you when you visit, and give it to Madame Pomfrey. She'll administer it to him. This concludes today's lesson."

Hermione walked up to her professor's desk and reached over it, closing her hand around the bottle. He turned to his chambers beyond and exited before her. She was starving, but she decided to make it to Harry's side with his medication as soon as possible.

As he walked, her incantation came to mind. In order to cement the trauma in her brain, he had forgone asking her where she learned it. It was effective, however he knew that it wasn't one taught at Hogwarts. That was far more advanced, and difficult to properly cast.

He mumbled to himself, "It would kill her to be average."

Silently he thought that because of it, her friends just might stand a chance.

She walked in to see the strained face of her friend. He was hiding his pain as best he could, and not doing a very good job of it. "Here, I brought this-" she placed it on the small white table next to Harry's bed. He immediately reached for the bottle, only to have it confiscated by Madame Pomfrey.

She allotted just one sip and slid the bottle into her apron pocket.

"You look much, much better, Harry." She lied. The color was gone from his face, and the perspiration at his brow made him look grim. She pulled her chair closer and lowered her voice as he sank back into a more comfortable position.

"Harry, I'm sure that Ron as told you what is going on," she whispered, "I am working alone. With Snape. We are going to try to figure out how best to help you. I just know it." His look confirmed her suspicion; the predominant frown displayed his distaste. He didn't believe that statement, just as he didn't believe her comment on his looks. He knew he was in a bad way on all fronts.

The visit was cut short, Hermione catching the noise of him scratching at the sheets on the far side of the bed.

Pomfrey's voice, "That will be all today." marked Hermione's queue to leave.

Hermione closed the door, but with shutting the door, she opened the stream of thought and it flowed quickly to catch up. She had felt desperate to talk to Harry all day. The book…I've forgotten to ask him about the book.

She was perplexed. Harry was in no shape to be bothered with something so trivial. Her visit ended up being too short, and she didn't have a chance to even think of anything helpful, let alone probe him for his take on things.

She was going to ask Ron if he had any ideas, but as she approached him in the common room, she noticed that he was in the process of sweet-talking one of the girls, who kept twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She made haste, leaving him to his own devices.

In her room, she tore off her robes and noticed that her shirt and skirt were ruined with blood. Balling them up, she threw them into the corner by the window. She would take care of them later, she thought to herself. Wearing nothing but an oversized tee-shirt, she immediately began to study her book.

Hermione looked at her hourglass, and noticed that it had run out. She felt the pangs in her arms and legs, and decided that she needed to dance. The room was warm, but she could see the swaying of the trees outside. There would be a marvelous breeze if she went out there. To top it off, she had read a spell that she was dying to try. She grabbed a bag, stuffed her blood-stained clothes, her book, her cd player into it and tossed it onto the pillows by her windows.

She changed into her leggings and a sweatshirt, and grabbing the handles of her bag, threw herself out the window.

The spell she murmured slowed her fall, and gently lowered her to the ground.

She trusted that book, even if she didn't trust its origin. She could see a silver glow over everything, with the moon at half crescent. She was free to roam the grounds, traipsing toward a remote edge of the forest. Her thoughts roamed free in the partial darkness. She still had one or two hours before the sun came up. To Blazes with sleep anyway…

Hermione had been thinking of the day's events and thought of her class, and she felt the anger well up within her once again. The darkness of the forest reminded her of the darkness in the classroom. She thought of his blood on her hands. She thought of the feel of his skin. Continuing her trek, she thought of how he looked as he removed his clothes. How his movements made her think that he was about to overpower her and take her.

In his classroom, she felt the stirrings of want, and that feeling was so unintentional it maddened her. When she saw him remove his shirt, she had the urge to slide her hands between her legs and submit to her need to be touched. Within several steps, he had succeeded in getting her body to make itself ready for him. She was wet and wanting.

The terror that ensued was as unexpected as her belief that he was going to take her just seconds before.

She actually had a second's thought that she _wanted_ him to touch her. To expose her to things that she only imagined. She had read in books what things are done between two people. She wanted to experience them all. With him so close, and with him looking the way he did, she wanted it to be HIM that did all of those terrible, yet-to-be experienced things to her...

The responses she had in class had come back.

Imagining now, she saw him loosening the string of his pants and showing himself to her—thick, long and erect, and ordering her to lick him…to suck on him. To get him slick enough to slide into her. She was wet again, and she felt her muscles twitch inside. Begging to be relieved.

She walked to where the dense tree line began. Turning around, she viewed the castle, which looked small from where she stood. This was far enough away to not be interrupted, and close enough so that if she needed to flee for safety, she wasn't completely out of range.

This was the right place, she assured herself, to be completely alone.

Severus felt the throbbing in his arm, but this time it was accompanied by a pain in his head so acute that he stumbled through the paths leading to his meeting place. This time he was prepared, he thought to himself. He was almost first to arrive. There was only one other.

The hooded figure was directly across from him was motionless. And they stood at compass points North and South. Severus may have looked static, but he slowly touched the wand with the tip of his finger, making sure it was just within his reach, stowed in the sleeve of his robe. His eyes lifted from the fire to the hem of the robe of his opposing attendee. His head and arm still ached, amplified by the alarming feeling that he could be set for a trap at any second.

And that second could be right now.

More attendees writhed out of the dense wood and took their prospective places. Then more came. This time, the circle was completely filled, and a second ring began to form behind the first. Severus knew that Voldemort was drawing more power, and sending out his calling to a much wider scope. Severus knew that the Dark Lord's powers were almost completely restored.

At once, the pain stopped. Severus could only assume that he wasn't alone in feeling the pain. He heard a woman's voice sigh shortly after, and assumed that for some, the pain was a precursor-leading to something even more satisfactory.

The bonfire's flames slapped at the darkness above, tendrils of light waving at the dim flicker of stars overhead, but the sight was hidden to everyone except the Dark Lord. He smiled, looking at all of his followers and plotting out the evening. Feeling exceptionally well, things would be taking on a festive flavor.

Voldemort breathed in and stretched. He was intoxicated with the feeling of being corporeal again. Of being back in control of his movement, dependent on others only for brief seconds now. And that would be changing soon. He addresses his congregation, "In a moment, I will have what I need. Then I want to celebrate…" He began walking the perimeter of the circle, drawing power from each human statue.

Quite simple, the Dark Lord thought to himself. The most simple designs were usually the best suited for any task. This spell was created by a witch named Crowley. The rest of the name wasn't really important to him-Only the results. While this Crowley tended to couple his spell with sexual perversions, Voldemort had figured that type of expenditure was wholly unnecessary. The drawing of power was just a matter of honing one's mental connection with another. One is allowed to take what the other offers. It was nothing more than will.

His hand slid over the smooth contours of one slight form, knowing the shape as one of his favorites. The response was the tremor of expectant shivers and a bending at the knees. He retracted his hand as the slender figure collapsed.

Voldemort didn't need or want to touch anyone else. And the process began. He watched shoulders slump and hands fall to each of the member's sides. He felt the surge inside him similar to pride or power, and he felt a fulfillment akin to gluttony. Once he was satisfied, he projected just one thought to his attendees—Indulge.

With that, the flames turned from red to black, with wisps of silver being the only illumination demarcating the shapes.

The robes draping each of his revelers were quickly shaken off and glimpses of the surface of skin could just be made out. His eyes scanned the circle, which began to undulate, like a ripple, and spread itself out wider as the forms began to converge and lower to the ground. He loved to watch and moved throughout the scene for better observation.

Once sated, revelers began to disperse; some finding their robes, some leaving in nothing but their own skin. During this particular moment, one robed figure remained still. The stone on which he stood proved the perfect vantage point. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and were in fact more suited to low light than all the others, having been sentenced to it for so long.

One of the attendees seemed to be shed of folly more readily than the others, as if the entire night of pleasure was erased the very moment he rose to his feet. As if the indulging of desire and passion were nothing more than a perfunctory business exchange.

The Dark Lord watched him and was intrigued. Some things never change, he thought, watching Severus straighten himself, pop the cuffs of his shirt, rebutton his collar and quickly exit the scene.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: For mature readers only. Adult content and sexual situations._

Evileye Chapter 9

Never being one to take the same path twice, Severus did not choose a shorter route, feeling the need to move as he sorted through his thoughts. Winding around trees and under vines on his way back to the school, he also checked behind him to see if there was movement in the shadows that wasn't caused by him.

It felt reckless, forcing himself through the thickets and wild overgrowth, not knowing what was just beyond. Then again, the entire evening had a certain recklessness to it. More thoughts tore through his mind. His whole adulthood had been reckless, by joining the Death Eaters, then by secretly betraying them...

Feeling the scraping fingers of the wilderness grapple with his robes, his hair, tugging and poking made him feel as if he were fighting with a sentient being. He continued the struggle with both his movement and his memory.

He thought of the evening's revel again and remembered what those meetings used to mean to him: A sense of belonging, a sense of importance. At those meetings, he used to believe, to feel as if he were desired and admired, even if it were just for his position and prestige within the group. He knew that there was always someone who wanted what he had.

That kind of connection with others, though, seemed to be the only interaction he had.

Conflict waged a battle within him, but tonight it was particularly grueling. He thought of how he had changed, and given up one of the most defining facets of his life…and for what? He had placed his head on the proverbial chopping block, for the sake of saving the very lives of the ingrates that he chose to protect. If he were ever found out to be a spy for the other side, that proverbial block was going to be replaced by a literal one.

He had stopped just a moment, keeping himself from slipping on the mossy stones when he heard a crunch of dry grass very near to him. He froze. His eyes tried to find the assailant in the distance, but as he craned his head, some kind of wall rose from beside him, knocking him completely within its confines. He knew the silence that followed was most likely his death knell.

His hand automatically extended his wand to its full length. Knowing he was about to die, he decided to take as many attackers as possible to their graves in turn. He felt a welling from inside him, calling upon every nerve, every curse, and every ounce of bile he could summon in order to put up the most blood-spilling fight ever executed.

Then he heard a familiar sound. It was a sound that he recognized from inside Hogwarts' walls. Music. His body trembled with adrenaline, worsened by anger, and his mind raged as he pointed at the source. Severus felt every iota of self-control being used, keeping him from turning upon the small figure that pointed to pile of logs. He read her lips, calling out _Incendio _and setting them on fire.

Motionless, he peered from his position, seeing her crouch down and lay out several items. His heart still produced the burdened thumping in his chest, and with it he felt the surge of blood forcing itself through his neck into his brain. His eyes darted to his prison walls. She had produced what looked like a wall of thorny vines that shot upward and seemed to touch the highest branches of the knotted trees that fought each other for room.

His eyes reverted to watching Hermione. She positioned herself to get the best light from the fire. Paging through a book, she groped for a clump of dark fabric just within her reach. Her fingers skimmed the pages until they came to a halt. She began to pull at the fabric, and she flattened what appeared to be a shirt on the ground. Returning to the book, she kept her place with one finger, while pointing her wand at the shirt.

In his mind, he began to chuckle as she attempted to execute a spell several times, obviously without result, hearing only the strains of the obnoxious music she chose.

His mirth quickly faded when he saw smile creep across her face and the fabric begin to flutter on the ground. Its colour began to recede, leaving a white shirt with a large mark upon it in the middle.

Not knowing what to make of this he continued viewing the scene without making any movement.

She jumped up from her position, and began to jump around with excitement. She looked down at her work and suddenly became motionless. She wrapped one arm around the front of her waist, and raised her wand-holding hand to her lips. She swiveled side to side while she put a knuckle between her lips, not taking her eyes from the shirt.

Her smugness, even though hidden from the rest of the world made him want to pounce on her and give her a cold, hard slap. Just then, as if she were feeling the blunt of his punishment, she gasped and took a step back. She blinked hard and then began to laugh. From his viewpoint he could only see that the spot moved, but he couldn't see what the spot was.

She picked up the fabric and raised it, obscuring her face from view. She turned her back to him, clutching it now to her chest, and walked to her wall of thorns. As hardened as he was to pain, he felt his blood being dragged from his head back to the core of his body. He felt slightly ill when she stepped back from the fabric that she hung from the thorns. Now he could see what had arranged itself on her blouse.

It was his face.

Watching what could have been considered mirror quality, he watched his own image's eyes follow her; his image's mouth moved, but he could not hear the words.

His mind made sense of what she had done, knowing that this could be done, but not wanting to admit that it could be done so easily. It was his blood that had facilitated this, and he was loathe to think what was being divulged by that part of himself which was relinquished during his class.

He forced himself to stop the tremors that began against his will. He rationalized away the possibility of this reaction, but something inside of him kept barking orders, telling him that she is only a girl, and that she should be put in her place, that the shirt should be destroyed, and that he should put an end to this girlish fancy immediately. Every other second seemed to goad him into action, but his curiosity seemed to put this urge in check.

Plainly, he wanted to see what her intentions were. He wanted to see if she was going to try to hex him, jinx him, to hurt him for all of the horrors he heaped on her with heady unbridled pleasure. Poised for a fight, he waited.

Hermione turned up the already-deafening music even higher. In fluid movements, she began to stretch. She bent herself in several directions from her torso, she began to roll her shoulders. Drawing her knee up in front of her, she caught her toes and lifted up her leg. Her balance was impressive as she let her leg arc out to the side and let it return to its previous position. She mirrored her movements on the other side. Then she began to dance.

Severus began to feel the revolting rise of disgust with the facial expressions that came from his image. It watched her as did he, but it seemed that her conjuring had done something to bring forward those things he wished to conceal. But how? What had she done to coax those lurid, dark and lustful responses from his image? The twitch from his image's head lured her closer, and seemed to indulge her in an intimate conversation.

He saw her inch closer and closer, with every volley of conversation. He watched as a change started to take place in his student. He could see her body become loose. He saw her nodding. The face on the blouse sneered and nodded in reply. She began to move again, under the obvious direction of his grotesque double.

This was not just a talking painting, a mere image. This was his own blood-based replica. Somehow, the Granger girl had stumbled on or perhaps re-created what he thought to be just a spell myth.

Severus felt a pressure in his chest that he could not subdue. He felt as if he were restrained with a binding charm, tightening with every breath as he watched her staring at his image. His body only allowed for the parting of his lips as he sucked in air. He did this as she began removing her clothes.

The pounding of the veins in his temples throbbed with the music, not knowing if it was the music itself or this vision that was the cause. He saw that her inhibitions were stripped away with her clothes and he watched his image's mouth his "Yes." The toothy smile made his own stomach lurch toward his mouth.

Severus watched her begin to slide her hands over her body as she danced. Even if he wanted to, his body would not be able to react after his long bout at the Death Eaters' gathering. He was sure that even during his actions, he never displayed the orgiastic pleasure that was being served to Hermione. He was repulsed at watching himself making these facial expressions, while being quietly shocked to see his young charge being directed to perform the most intimate of self-pleasures unabashedly…willfully….by _his_ order and command.

The voice within his head had pieced the explanation together at the exact moment he heard her cries over the music. The reactions that were being expressed by his image were in fact present in his blood. His desires, though, were not being restrained because there was no logic behind it. It was pure lust and heat and everything he fought to control, unbridled and free.

The only thing that made this startling realization bearable was that she obviously wanted every drop of it. And then something flashed across his real face that resembled one of the grimaces he had just witnessed on the fabric.

It was the look of satisfaction.

She turned down the music to a whisper as she gathered her clothes, now looking shyly over to the blood-portrait. He heard his voice rumble, "Finished so soon? We were just getting started Granger…I have so much to teach you." Hermione picked up the book once again and parted the pages to her bookmark.

She walked over to the portrait and traced a finger over his image's lips. It looked as if the portrait was breathing in her scent as her fingers touched it. She breathed out words in a whisper and the colors that made up his image blurred and spread until the original stain was all that remained.

She unhooked the blouse from the thorns and bunched it up, placing it back into her bag.

After gathering her things, she looked upward toward the sky. With the simple phrase "**_Finite", _**and a flick of her wand, they were both encapsulated the dark purple that comes just before dawn. Surrounded by only trees once more, Severus watched as she bolted toward Hogwarts without looking back. He could see her sprinting back to the school, but remained still until he saw her reach the castle walls to the hidden passage known only to her and her troublesome friends.

Once she was out of sight, he began to destroy the remaining greenery that was obstructing his way. Upon extracting himself from the forest, he stomped up to the only entrance that he was positive no troublemaking student, Weasley or otherwise, ever traversed. This one led straight to his private chambers.

Once inside his chambers, he began to scan his library. The spells she used to create the thorny barrier and his portrait were unnerving. They were at the very least non-traditional. He began to yank books from the shelves, looking in the most obscure in his collection in an attempt to locate the source of her incantations. After a short while, his impatience began to manifest. No longer slipping the books back into their rightful place, he now dropped certain ones to the floor, while lining up others at his desk.

He growled to himself, these were innovative and pieced together several traditional spells to get her effects. Even the most seasoned witches and wizards stick to the basics, and never put forth the effort to create derivatives of the standard spells.

Was that book a compilation of her own handiwork? If not, who was the author, and why was she now in possession of such a book? It couldn't be from her family, since she was of Muggle heritage.

He wanted to study this book, but there would be no way for him to ask for it…She wasn't foolish enough to carry something like that with her, for fear of it being found by chance by another student or even from faculty. He couldn't tell her to bring it to him, because she would realize that he was present when she used it. Within a few hours, he heard the Dungeon doors creek open and closed. She was there to begin her lessons.

"Granger!" He barked her name, but it was understood that he was calling her into his library. Her head crooked around the corner of the door jamb and finally the rest of her caught up. Her black robes were fastened securely for once, but he could still imagine her skin hiding within her clothes. Shuddering at the thought of her, he turned away from her inquisitive stare.

Thinking quickly, he decided on his next actions. Resuming his air of calm, he slowly turned back to her and spoke blandly. "Shelve these books. I will return."

He could hear her exhale as he swept past, not caring if it was the response of a petulant child or if it was a swoon.

The rooms of Gryffindor tower were devoid of students at this hour. His entry was swift as he made a direct path to the Head Girl's quarters.

After a brief encounter with her large cat Crookshanks—entailing hissing, bristling of fur and his boot, he saw the bag, and rifled through it. The shirt and the book were nowhere to be found…as he expected. He whispered "Accio Blood". The shirt came skidding from under the bed, and lay at rest at his feet. He then murmured "Incendio" as the heap burst into flames and disappeared.

The book was well hidden, taking him several minutes to find it.

She had done her best to charm it look like a child's toy… a bear, in fact. He knew that this was completely out of place on her bed—at least he hoped was the case. The book was surprisingly heavy, but he reduced it and tucked it into his robes. He picked up another book from her shelves and changed its appearance for a decoy. Its head flopped to the side as he placed it on her pillow, and it glared at him disapprovingly with its black, beady eyes.

He would study it during her lunch hour, and replace it in similar fashion. If she stopped in her rooms for a moment, she would no doubt think anything, as long as she saw what she thought to be her handiwork there as expected. By the time she arrived back into her rooms for the evening, she would have her book, but there would be no trace of her new _acquaintance_.

Within a flash, he was tearing down the corridors to get back to his student.


	10. Chapter 10

Evileye Chapter 10

All of books were shelved, less one being perused by his student.

"Getting any ideas, Miss Granger?" The gravel in his voice alerted her to his presence, and she reacted by slamming the slender book closed and replacing it in its proper place.

"Sorry." Hermione conceded.

"I would prefer not having a reason to accept an apology." He replied coolly, "Since it came from someone who rarely contains herself, however" he continued, "I suppose it will have to suffice. For the future, it would behoove you," his eyes darted quickly toward her, "to exercise some self-restraint."

She no longer felt apologetic, standing in front of her professor. She locked her arms at her sides, clenching fists-full of her robe. Ironically, she was using all the self-restraint she could muster in order to not pounce.

For a moment, she saw the corner of his mouth upturn before he spoke. "Well then, it is time to resume your lessons. After you-" His hand motioned her to leave; curt and just high enough to make it known the gesture wasn't chivalrous.

As she made her exit, he followed behind her closely on her heels. Severus derived just the slightest bit of amusement to see her bristle at the sound of the door slamming shut.

The pleasure was quickly dampered as his inner commentary noted, 'How very base.' and would have continued had it not been for the interruption by the Headmaster.

Dumbledore's raised eyebrow was the only response to what appeared to be an awkward scene. The two seemed to apparate from the darkness of the space leading to his private chambers into the dreary-yet-better-lit dungeon.

Severus already had the mental image of how this scene could be construed. There was sure to be a discussion at length about it. For that he was already prepared. Albus knew him well, he assured himself. The conversation would be more about appearances than improper conduct.

Hermione continued walking but her towering shadow stood still, allowing distance to accumulate between them.

The gravity of Dumbledore's presence made both of them instantaneously dispose of their animosities. It was obvious that whatever the reason for him being here was enough to merit the mental stamp of severe.

Reading Albus' nonverbal queues, following his eyes and seeing a certain rigidity in his features, the potions master closed the gap that separated him from his student. As an added precaution, he also made sure that he was positioned between Hermione and the door. His assessment was correct. Within seconds, his arms shot out to halt the progression of the small figure that thrashed within his grasp fiercely. All it took was but a few choice words from the Headmaster. "It seems that Mr. Potter has taken a turn for the worse. At this point there is nothing we can do-" as she spun on her heels and made to run to her friend, but was effortlessly restrained.

Hermione spat, "Let me go! I want to see him!" At first she tried to break free, wildly and blindly, but as the seconds progressed, she came to her senses, realizing that there were hands on her, that with every move there was a counter-move to thwart her.

Furious that she was being restrained, unshed tears welled in her eyes as she craned her head to glare at her oppressor. Enraged that she wasn't in control of the situation, and railing against the fact that she was losing the fight.

She snarled, gnashing her teeth-trying to get past him, past the door, up to her friend. She wanted her professor dead as he murmured, "We just discussed this. Control yourself, Miss Granger."

With every tug of her arms, he was adhered to her. Trying to contort and extract herself from him only made him get a better hold on her, until he was able to turn her and draw her to him.

She loathed him for this.

His act of restraint made her think briefly of love. Of protection.

The sheer unexpectedness made the choked-back tears and sobs well up and flow out of her. She still struggled, but it was from grief instead of anger until all that remained were the sluggish and uncoordinated sputters of exhausted pain.

While the small girl raged outwardly, Severus had the peculiar feeling of being asphyxiated. It was hard for him to draw in breath, but finally he was able to draw in air raggedly through his nostrils.

Then something happened that Severus had been expecting, but not quite this way. He felt her stiffen. Her rigid body in his arms gave one fluid shudder and he knew that instant what had happened. Like dropping a crate of flasks, he knew that what was carried within was shattered. She had finally been broken.

When she stopped moving, she was silently released.

Dumbledore, who had remained placid throughout the scene gently placed one hand on her shoulder and said, "I understand your feelings, but you above all others, know that you need to be here," his other hand swished in the air of the dungeons, "now, more than ever."

With resignation, her head sunk. She knew he was right. At the proper time, she intended to rush to her friend's bedside.

Residual tremors rumbled through her, and she helped herself onto one of the stools, resting her head in her hands. Breathing deeply and controlled, she finally wiped the wetness away.

She could feel the burned rivulets where the tears flowed down her very unaccustomed face.

Finally, she looked up at Dumbledore eeking the words from deep within her, "Thank you."

Dumbledore and Snape gave each other brief glances before the elder of the two silently removed himself from the scene.

Severus, without hesitation, began to unbutton his sleeves as he followed Dumbledore to the door. Once the door was locked and the wards set on it, off came his robe, then his vest, and finally his shirt.

He noticed that she had managed to leave marks on his arms and sides, realizing that her hands had attempted to claw out of his grasp.

While he _was_ expecting her to be staring at him, he wasn't quite ready to see her do it with the expression that blanketed her face.

If ever there was ever a look that embodied the phrase "You got what you deserved," then _this_ was it…the epitome of indignant righteousness.

Even though Hermione still made mistakes, they were far less in number. While she repaired the damage he inflicted on himself, he couldn't help but notice that she was no longer repulsed by it.

This was a good sign, he thought to himself. He increased the damage, making it far more severe. He couldn't read her face these last few hours, which she kept as calm and blank while mending him time and time again.

Because of his advancement in her training, and his self-inflicted wounds more and more life-threatening, he dared not attempt to pry into her thoughts. Were he to touch a place in her mind while she was working to correct the damages, he might temporarily confuse her…and possibly cause her to do him more harm.

He wanted to know what she was thinking at this moment. It was slightly unsettling to him that the student who normally wore her heart on her sleeve was now as unreadable as a blank slate.

Because he kept her here, in the dungeons, instead of letting her run to the bedside of her famous young Mr. Potter, Severus figured that she must despise him right now more than anyone else in the entire wizarding world.

He wondered if she would wait until he lacerated an artery to stop treating him…wanting him to bleed out completely and then lock his carcass in this tomb of a dungeon. He knew because he remembered how it felt when _he_ was broken.

But she remained honed on her task. She was becoming more efficient by the moment. Her eyes glazed over, and she ceased looking at him as an injured person. She looked at him as if he were an object. Severus, with all the gashes in his skin, and smeared flesh had become to her a literal piece of meat.

During this session, he began to lose momentum before her.

He felt the dull ache in his body, while hers seemed to radiate renewed energy. She was rosy from working, and as she hovered over him from time to time, he could feel the warmth wash over him.

Her warmth.

For that one spit second, he had lost his concentration. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, his curse had ripped through his body and did just what he thought she wanted him to do.

He felt the slash across the inside of his thigh. It was deep and the blood poured out from him at the wound. With intellectual curiosity, he looked down at it for a brief moment, and then up at her.

Hermione realized that he had done something unintended. She saw something in his eyes, close to humor. It looked like he thought of a great joke just before his right knee gave out and he spiraled to the floor.

Hermione knelt beside his prone form, her knees splayed apart as she worked on him.

Severus felt her hand press down on the wound. Then he felt a vice-like grip as she held the two sides closed and compressed. Her other hand looked like a bird hovering over them…her wand pointing at the gash-And then all he saw was black.

He jerked awake. Looking at the ceiling, wet and cold he stuck to the floor. His cape was draped over him and Hermione was looking down at him as her breath warmed the air in front of his face.

She had not run for help. 'Did she have time?' he thought to himself. Looking at the hourglass, he noticed that only seconds had passed.

He was holding something in his hand.

It was warm, but the second he realized what it was, it had wriggled out of his grasp and his hand hit the floor.

She quietly turned and walked slowly away as he realized that it was her hand.

In the infirmary, Hermione sat quietly by her friend. Harry's breathing was shallow and weak. She could only guess that it wouldn't be long if they were unable to stop what was ailing him.

Though unspoken, she had pieced together that somehow Voldemort was afflicting him from outside the school's grounds. It made sense, since Harry could always sense when something was amiss with Him by the pain he felt through his scar.

Even though Harry had been learning Occlumency from Snape, it didn't seem to make any difference. The fact that Harry had Snape teaching him these private lessons, Hermione could just tell that the whole situation was not helping. They couldn't stand to be in the same room together alone for any amount of time.

Even when they learned of professor Snape's involvement with 'their side', they still didn't have any feelings about him other than skepticism and a general dislike.

When Harry decided to quit attending these sessions, Snape left it at that. He was in no rush to go to Dumbledore. The sooner he reported the truancy, the sooner he'd have to spend time alone with his least-favorite student.

Because of recent events, they knew now was that somehow Voldemort was able to work his way into Harry's head. As frightening as the thought was that her friend was being tormented was the fact that, it was just as scary to think that Voldemort now resided within Harry's head, and because of that, He now lurked within the school's protected walls.

She brushed the hair away from his scar, and wiped his forehead from the sweat that plastered the hair to his face. He didn't move. She wondered if he even knew what she was doing. She wondered if he even knew she was there.

Ron walked it and stood beside her. He bent down to hug her, and she stood mid-hug to return it. They held each other longer than they normally would. It was obvious that they were both resigned to the fact that there was nothing more to do than wait for the inevitable.

Ron absentmindedly summoned a chair from the corner and took a seat by Hermione's side.

The silence was broken by a noise that originated from the hall, growing louder and louder as it closed in on them. They knew what created this noise. Or more exactly, who made it. Hagrid ducked passed the doorjamb, his handkerchief at his nose. His sniffling hummed though the halls.

Neither of them looked away as he made a poor attempt to mop the signs of grief from his face. He looked at the three of them in the curtained area and howled like a wounded animal. Hermione approached her mammoth friend and disappeared in his embrace. Ron also approached him and patted Hagrid's large forearm as he watched Hermione's head slowly move.

She was talking to Hagrid in soothing tones, but Ron couldn't make out the words as they were muffled and quiet, and only meant for Hagrid anyway. Ron sat back down and waited for Hermione to be unearthed. Eventually, he saw Hagrid nod in agreement, and heard the grieving reply, "I know, I know…" from behind Hagrid's beard. Hermione was released eventually, and she took her seat.

Hagrid's giant hand lightly patted Harry on the arm, Hagrid then turned to leave. The sniffling continued down the hall and out of earshot, and the three friends were again alone in silence.

It was the first night of many that he wasn't inflicted with searing pain in his arm. This time a quick succession of bangs woke Severus from his sleep. The sound originated from the door, but stopped the moment his eyes pried themselves open in the darkness. His heart was pounding from being startled.

The second set of blows forced him fully awake. Instead of alarm, he felt nothing but annoyance. Grabbing his robe, he pulled it over his bare form and headed toward the door.

He swung the door wide open, and peered down.

The small creature before him faintly resembled a harpy. The hair was bushy and seemed to fly everywhere with her movement. Her eyes were wide and wild, and the noise that came from her mouth was a deafening screech.

"This is your fault," she screamed as she forced her way into the room. "You hated him so much that you let his training fail!" She dragged the top of her hand under her eyes, mopping up the tears.

He stood silent as she continued, "You let your feelings get in the way," she howled, "You could have helped him, but because of your pettiness, he's going to die."

She ran up to him, and stood on her toes to scream in his face, "I should have let _you_ die"

Jerked out of sleep, and still off balance, he winced at the last word, but couldn't quite formulate the right words for the situation. Snape kept his arms crossed in front of him, partly because he was holding his robe closed, and partly because he believed that anything he did would send his student farther into a tirade.

This was not something he was expecting. He began to work through her words. In his state, he couldn't help but think that it wasn't unwarranted. Disturbingly, he had the odd feeling that he was shrinking while she continued.

As her words spilled out, she became more agitated. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?" She was spitting with anger, literally, and had to wipe her mouth with her sleeve.

Severus remained still, but he felt like he was being squeezed into a smaller version of himself. He hadn't received this type of onslaught since…his mind searched for the concept…since his youth. He felt the kindling of old feelings that he laid to rest long ago: Apprehension. Grief. Shame. He wanted to disapparate in order to escape this.

She watched the blank expression on Severus' face and the flames inside her leapt higher.

"You …You are WORTHLESS! Nothing but a…fucking… MONSTER."

His hands shot out and gripped her by the arms. His eyes narrowed, and he pulled her to him. He smothered the vile images she was able to make him conjure in his mind.

"I knew it." He whispered. His frown quivered, and the look of his anger bubbled just underneath. His more-present self was back in control. At first, these were the only words he could produce. His voice mimicked hers, vicious and sharp.

"Potter is as much to blame for his predicament as anyone else." Severus shook her once, continuing, "And who are you to call me names? Don't you feel a little bit responsible yourself?" He stared down into her shocked eyes.

"Don't you think that every time you gave him your homework to copy, the little git felt the right to make studying his lowest priority?

"You enabled him to weasel his way out of learning because he had you as his brainy little bitch always at his beckoned call-Which makes me wonder…what else have you given him eagerly?" He sneered when he saw that he had hit her in a raw area, but as quickly as he saw her lose her composure, she regained it.

With his remark, both of her hands shot up between them and the heels of both of her palms met with the underside of his chin.

His head shot back and he stumbled a bit backward, but was able to regain his grip on her.

The crack was loud, but she obviously didn't hit him as hard as she would have liked. She attempted to strike him again when Severus ducked knocking them both to the floor.

His moves were swift as he rolled with her, finally getting his bearings, he rocked himself to his feet, jerking her upright with him. He took several paces yanking her with him as he tried to discern what to do with her.

In his fury, he had a brief urge to strangle her. He thought of using curses that would maximize her pain before death. His rationality kicked in rather quickly, though before he took steps to smite her.

He wanted to punish her for the place she cast him into just moments before.

There it was.

She would pay for her actions this time.

He knew instantly that what punishment would be _more painful_ to her than death.

He dragged her toward a nearby chair. He wrenched her arms behind her back. As he sat, he threw her across his lap. His elbow pinned her to his leg, and one hand pinned her clawing hands to the small of her back. His other hand flipped up her skirt as she screamed.

His hand came down with such force that her screams were stifled by her quick sucking of breath. Her shock gave way to his second blow, and the momentary silence gave way to screeches of rage and startled pain.

He continued as she kicked and writhed, trying to find her way out of his grasp. Her legs were now red, he could see the welts rising on her white skin, but he continued slapping her round, firm ass harder and harder.

Something inside of him wanted more of a reaction from her, though it was beyond reason. He continued as did her shrieks until finally her mouth emitted a groan, "Let me GO!" She screamed in a rage. He could hear her tone change from fear to fury again.

The noise that issued from her throat as he made contact with the bare flesh where her underwear failed to cover gave him a sense of satisfaction, as it was much more pleasurable to his ears as he continued.

It felt to her as if hours had passed and she felt as if he would never stop. To be exact, his hand came down on her skin in quicker succession blow after blow.

The instant he threw her across his lap, Hermione realized her professor was completely undressed except for now-open robe, and that he could easily turn this altercation into something much more. The fear made her even more enraged.

Severus knew if he released her, she would try to claw his eyes out, but for some reason this only made him want to make her taunt her into an even more heightened fury.

She tried to tug her hands loose, and as she did, choked out, "You are as good as dead. When I'm free, I'm going to kill you." She fought to dismount, but he pulled her back onto him, repositioning her again and again. She was trapped.

He wondered if she trying to buy some time or did she really mean the words that she uttered? "So it is not enough that you want me dead, Miss Granger, but it is possible that you hate me so much that you would even choose to try smite me with your bare hands?" Snape twisted her so that he could see her face. The look she gave him was all the confirmation he needed. His hand felt hot, as if it was just warming up for this punishment in earnest. The blows were, at first, hard and fast.

Seeing her composure—hearing her murderous intention made his hand slow to and even more heavy. Instinctually, he knew that with each slap, the shock and the pain would increase if his hand stayed right on the point of impact. Her struggle was punctuated by full-body spasms from the intensity of each blow.

He surveyed her condition. Her pupils were dilated. She was breathing quickly, trying to get as much oxygen into her bloodstream in order to fight with every muscle in her body.

He realized that the sight of her in this position was also extremely arousing. The whole situation was deliciously wrong.

Reading his extended pause, she gasped, realizing that if he wanted to, he could ruin her.

A shimmer of fear crossed over her face.

She shook her head from side to side, emitting a silent stream of, "oh no". Her look or anger was quickly replaced by a pleading one. "Please, NO!"

He shifted her again on his lap. This time a little more slowly.

"Now you want me to let you go? Are you insane Miss Granger? You just threatened to kill me, and now you want me to release you?" He flipped her onto the floor and had her pinned before she had time to even register what had happened.

The speed in which he took her to the ground made her weak.

Hermione tried to catch her breath, but every time she moved, he also shifted.

With one attempt she made to kick him off of her, he was able to work his entire torso between her legs. Trying to pull them back to a closed position now was impossible.

Severus didn't know what possessed him to mount his student, but he didn't take the time to rationalize at that moment. In some portion of his brain, it felt like the right thing to do to stress his dominance over her.

Sweat drained from the back of his head and neck to his bruised chin, then dripped onto her face as he looked down at her.

He admitted to himself that he liked seeing her wet and defiant. Struggling. Fiery.

He was mildly startled when he watched her lick her lips where a drop hit. It made him feel an indescribable surge somewhere from deep in his stomach. In that instant, something changed-

She slowly let her knees relax, and gaining footing on the ground beneath her, she pushed off with her heels, lifting her hips off the ground—urging him to grind himself against her. She ran her tongue from his throat to his chin, gathering more of his taste in her mouth. Even though her hands were pinned above her head, it felt like she was touching him everywhere. His whole body trembled wherever their skin touched.

He felt her hips roll toward him, and he felt the leap in his stomach that begged him to continue what he had started. He was so close to her and wanted to be inside her…But not yet.

Hermione mouth opened and was covered by his. His tongue lapped at her tongue and deep in her mouth. She let him kiss her.

He sucked on her lips, and lifted his head to see them red and puffed by his roughness. He slowed to a stop, gauging her reaction. Her tongue darted hungrily into his mouth, a silent plea for more.

His body automatically shifted and continued to move slowly over her, but he felt her trying to urge him to move faster. His hardness slid between them, giving them both a sense of pleasure, but he knew that with one repositioning there would be more.

Severus wanted to touch her with his hands, but to do this he would have to free her fists first. Slowly, he began to ease his grip on her hands and as he did, she quickly tore at his robes.

He moved his face back protectively, thinking that she was going to scratch him, but he saw her eyes move. She wanted to see him. To see what he was doing to her. She reached up to grasp and pull off his robe. She continued to pull until she tore it from his body completely.

It felt as if a coiled spring in his head had snapped and was now whipping in circles trying to unwind.

He rocked back and forth on her and he used one hand to flick open the buttons on her blouse.

His fingers were like ice as they touched her. He could see her body shiver as he skimmed his fingertips teasingly over her skin.

Hermione's hands found their way into his hair, and he felt her pulling his head down to her. Somehow in their scuffle, he must have cut his head.

The pain from the cut was tremendous, but it didn't deter him from the opportunity to hook a finger around the top of her brassiere, tugging it down to expose her breast. He was just about to flick his tongue over her exposed nipple when he made the mistake of looking her straight in the eye.

She was panting, bucking…wanting more from him when he suddenly stopped.

Severus leapt from her and grabbed for his robes.

He knew.

Hermione looked shocked when he turned on her and viciously spat, "So you want to lose your maidenhead to monster?!"

Before she had time to answer, he had grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and ported her to the large dungeon door.

Tossing her out, he slammed the door closed, leaving her sprawled on the floor in the darkness of the hallway, stunned.


	11. Chapter 11

Evileye Chapter 11

Hermione looked up at the dungeon door from where she fell. Piercing cold stabbed at her where her flesh touched the slate—from her hands to her elbows which propped her torso up, and her bottom, still throbbing from the onslaught of her punishment.

Seconds whirred by as she tried to take in what just happened. Her tirade, her accusations, her threats all were heated to the flashpoint. In the meltdown, she was betrayed by her body, her secret desire for him exposed. At that moment, the thought of being spanked ricocheted through her head, and she felt the blood and heat rise to her face in shame, anger, and desire simultaneously.

Sitting up in a most undignified sprawl, she was faced with the realization that now he was aware of her true feelings toward him. Her eyes darted down the hallway to see if anyone was witness to the scene. She shot to her feet and quickly tugged her clothing into order, trying to figure whether or not to knock or run back to the safety of her room. Hermione debated whether to try to explain, defend, validate, apologize for what happened, shocked by not only her secret being revealed, but confused and embarrassed by the absolute rejection by him.

Then it dawned on her. Her behavior around him, the lashing out, the snide comments, all of it, was a juvenile attempt to gain his attention in a very adult situation. And she just got that attention, albeit briefly.

Next, her mortification set in at the thought that she had pushed him so far as to nearly ruin his career by…Hermione's face burned as she imagined him between her legs... She almost pushed him to an act he could never reverse. Her regrets were many, but all of them were caused by her on an unwilling recipient.

Hermione's small hand automatically flattened against the large wooden door blocking her from his rooms. From him.

Severus swore that he could feel the crackle of her power through the door as he leaned against it. His whole body felt the surge. Every millimeter of his body was screaming for her touch again, yet he pushed himself away from it, believing his body's reaction was only his wish for her to be still there. In his mind, however, he was sure she was already long gone-scared, disgusted, or both-and in the safe confines of her perfect room, or her perfect friends' company and her perfect life.

Hermione, gathering the vestiges of her well-wounded pride, slowly turned and somehow made it back to her room and her bed, before she began in earnest a good cry.

In another part of the school, an albino owl tapped on the intricate pane window to the Slytherin common rooms. The leisurely stroll of the boy bragged the air of a Malfoy. He removed the scroll from the owl's leg and shooed him away without further ado. Returning to his appointed, comfortable chair, he told his cohorts in no uncertain terms to get lost.

The note was in the unmistakable script of his father, and it was to the point.

_Midnight. Get to the boy. Give him his wand._

As soon as Draco finished reading it, the paper disappeared in flames, leaving just a trace of ash between his fingers.

Severus paced his bedchambers trying to calm himself, but he felt her fingers traces on his scalp, his back, arms, chest and his mind kept replaying the incident. It had been so long for him, to feel another person's caresses. Yes, he'd been touched, but typically those encounters were cold and harsh to him.

When Hermione's body made contact with his, it was pure and unadulterated desire. Her fingers coaxed and tempted him, her legs widened to welcome him and her eager wiggles spoke volumes of her willingness and desire. And the little noises she made, it was torture not to bury his hard cock into her when they were skin on skin, and her wetness had already made him slick for the task. Her throat making those needy groans and whines, panting, the Know-it-all reduced to primal vocalizations to get her point across. And he was right there with her, grunting, wanting to rut her like the deprived and depraved beast he was.

But then his fingers, ever learning, trained to sense the smallest fact felt her still intact. That body, that woman, still pure. He was infuriated and disgusted with himself! He was also enraged with her. How could she not have delved into experimentation with that body? How could she want to throw that gift away on him? And if she was going to ruin herself with him, she was fool enough not to warn him, a darkhorse of a man, who has needs of a brutish and forceful nature. It would have been a blunder, him feeling her ripping, realizing his mistake, and never ever being able to forgive himself. And what would he have done, already sheathed in her, would he have extracted himself tortuously and then rejected her after taking her gift? Would he have continued, saddled with the guilt that he didn't take his time not only for her benefit, but to relish the moments before and during her first union.

Union…what the FUCK was he thinking? This whole thing was wrong from start to premature end. This was not going to be a union. Severus cursed himself for thinking of what just happened in such flowery terms. A union implied something whole and lasting. A union implied meaning and belief. At this absurdity he cruelly laughed at his own expense. As if that little witch would ever want a UNION with him. At best, she would be slumming, at worst, she'd realize that she consummated with the biggest regret of her life-That she actually let him shag her, use her like some Knockturn Alley whore. She'd be sullied with a blackness that no cleansing would ever rid her from it. He did her a favor by shoving her outside and unceremoniously dumping her on her literal ass.

Instantly, the sneer that came to his face so easily, fell. His logic, which should have helped distance himself from her and alleviate his guilt only made him feel worse. Instead of steeling him, hardening him, he realized the worst. He actually felt vulnerable to her. And if he thought his heart could or would feel no more ache, he realized that even Severus Snape was human enough to admit when he was wrong.


	12. Chapter 12

Evileye Chapter 12

Hermione slowly sat up and grabbed her pillow, stripping the pillowcase from it. The tear-soaked material was balled up and thrown into the only clothes hamper to be found on Hogwart's grounds. Next to follow was the blouse she removed, after blotting the traces of her agony on one sleeve.

Realizing she had kicked many of her gifts onto the floor unwittingly during her outpouring, she wearily stooped to retrieve them. Hermione began straightening her room, finding logical places for each item, until her hand came to rest on the small, strange trinket from her friend Archana. The glossy eye stared at her blankly, and she wished that her own would be as clear and bright as the one she held on a string.

Her own eyes, itchy and no doubt red as the curtains that hung about her bed, burned and she shut them. She was rewarded with a black-silhouetted afterimage of her Potions Master. She witnessed upon it the most uncharacteristic fury she had never seen before. His trained features, typically projecting a surface calm had shattered into shards and left the man's emotions bare.

"Dear Gods, what have I done!" Hermione opened her eyes again, and looked everywhere for an answer. She even looked at the medallion wishing to find something, maybe compassion even, but found none. Feeling sore at herself, she shoved the glass bobble into her pocket and reached for her robes. She needed to speak with someone, her friend Harry, even if he now was as unconscious. Just having him near her just might, she hoped, give her some small comfort.

sshg

Draco smirked to himself as he made his way back to the Slytherin common rooms. That was the easiest thing he had ever been asked to do by his father.

After much planning, which turned out to be wholly unnecessary, he slipped into the infirmary, opened the cabinet where Madame Pomfrey kept all student-patient wands, and took the only one present. He then strode to Harry Potter's bedside and slipped behind the curtain to behold his prone classmate.

In mock concern, he grabbed Harry's chin and squeezed. "Poor baby Potter," he mock-pouted. More slapping than patting Potter's cheek he continued, "Uncle Voldemort is going to _make… you… all… better_." He stressed the last few words with jarring whacks to Harry's immobile face.

With that, Draco reached for young mister Potter's hand and slapped the wand into it, making sure to curl the other boy's fingers around the wood before tugging the blanket over it to hide it from view.

sshg

The wand nearly snapped with the force being applied by the fingers of Harry Potter just as his friend Hermione tiptoed into the curtained-off space that surrounded his bed.

She sat next to his bed, and ruffled through his hair, covering his scar which, had he been awake, she felt he would have done himself, just to hide his jagged mark. Hermione whispered "I wish you were better, Harry."

Hermione continued, "If only you could snap out of this so we could talk. I wish I could tell you all the things that have happened lately-I've…really…" She leaned forward, cradling her forehead with the palms of her hands, "I've royally… fucked up, Harry! And the worst thing about it is that I couldn't really tell you if you _were _awake. I'm so completely ashamed of myself, and you'd kill me if you knew what I just tried to do."

So Hermione sat vigil with the young man who was just about to unleash hell on an unsuspecting student body.

sshg

Severus felt the pain in his forearm and gathered himself together. He raised his mental barriers and dressed himself, finally donning his garb minus the mask. He made quick time in getting to his apparition point, and realized the severity of this calling when he saw none other than a formidable Voldemort, a mere hundred paces from where he just apparated from, with what looked like his entire following. Ready. Just waiting for a flourish his wand and speak the word. Waiting for their Lord to give the signal, allowing them to begin their assault.

sshg

After what felt like an hour, Hermione straightened her spine and stood. Looking down at Harry, she frowned as she noticed that his face looked knotted, like he was somehow making a hard decision, or perhaps was in pain again. She reached in her pockets, hoping to find a handkerchief to blot the sweat that began to bead upon his brow, but her hand came in contact with something cold instead. Her hand closed around it and pulled the amulet free.

"Of course," she scoffed. "If only I had put this on." Hermione half-joked to herself, but then became serious. Without another word, she slipped the cord over Harry's head, lifting it gently by the nape of his neck, then tugging the silly bauble gently down into place.

She drew the curtain closed, and her parting words were heard only by her own ears.

"Maybe it will work for you. Perhaps it can ward off bad things. Good night, Harry."

Hermione was not witness to what happened next.

Just as Harry's eyes shot open, the evil eye blinked.

sshg

Severus looked to the Dark Lord and knelt immediately, but unlike the others, kept his eyes locked with his. "I take it that tonight is the night, Master." Severus's comment made the man smile, his toothy grin answering Severus without words.

It was Voldemort who broke the gaze and addressed all those present.

"Surround the school and at my signal, begin." They scattered, and readied themselves, their masks being attached to protect and obscure their faces. Severus heard Bellatrix giggling in the most annoying way, like an evil child who just tore the tail off her pet rat.

"Harry Potter," Voldmort spoke into the air. "Awake, and in the chaos, kill everyone you once called friend." And from the tip of his wand, the signal shot into the sky, the clouds and air contorting to his favorite sign, the skull and snake which every witch and wizard who wasn't part of his plan learned to fear.

sshg

Hermione had just made it to the stairs when she felt a rumble within the walls of her beloved school, and at first thought it the boom of thunder. The windows closest to her flashed brightly, but instead of the silver white of lightning, she saw the unmistakable shade of green. "Oh no oh no no no!" She cried as she turned and ran. She needed to get back to Harry. She wanted to protect his prone form if it was the last thing she ever did on this earth.

All around her was the booming voice of Albus Dumbeldore, "The school is under attack. Faculty, send your Patronus', Prefects gather your charges, and everyone, may you be safe-use all your strength to defend yourselves."

The wards on the school began weakening, and she saw, through the panes, large gaps fringed in burning red and smoldering orange in mid-air. The holes were just large enough for someone riding a broom-and just as the thought passed her mind, she saw the first Deatheater breach one of the gaps. From somewhere down below, a bright flash of pure silver shot up to intercept the first assailant, who fell like a stone out of the sky.

What she heard next as she skidded to a stop at the infirmary doors was what she definitely didn't expect. Harry's voice yelling over the noise, "Hermione!"

She saw him point his wand at her from his bed and cried, "Expelliarmus!" Hermione shrieked as the spell shot by her head and hit the cloaked figure who had somehow appeared directly behind her. Her eyes followed the wand as it skittered past her feet, sliding somewhere under Harry's bed.

She broke into a dash over to his bed and threw her arms around him, and he stiffened. Just for a second, before he reciprocated, whispering in her ear, "Ouch-Hermione, I don't have much time to tell you everything, but…."


	13. Chapter 13

Evileye Chapter 13

Bellatrix stood at Voldemort's side and waited, watching his face unabashedly as he viewed the slaughter unfold from his spot in the trees. "My Lord, shall I join in the fight?" Her smile wicked. His head just barely swiveled a 'no' as his eyes remained on the front door to the school. She fisted her robes in anticipation for his orders, slightly giddy.

His followers breached every tear in the wards they could find, scaling, flying, running as they threw hexes attempting to gain access to the inside of the school itself the front doors swung open and Harry Potter himself stepped out and raised his wand.

No sound followed his roar, every person within earshot stopped and turned to see him raise his wand and scream as he produced the Morsmordre. Swiftly, he turned and bolted inside the halls and out of sight.

"That is our queue, darling Bellatrix." Voldemort stepped out of the forest and began his leisurely stroll toward the open door.

The Order members and Aurors who were now on scene were the first to shake off the shock, regrouping and reinitiating the fight. The sounds of apparation popping all around them, parents, friends, and loyal almuni who were willing to lay down their lives for the children still inside the school as well as to protect their beloved school itself.

Voldemort trekked, unhindered, through the chaos around him, his Deatheaters creating a clear path for him to stride. Once inside, his face cracked into a grin at the scene which would have paled the strongest of heart. "Look, Father Christmas answered my wish!"

Bellatrix moaned in ecstasy as she also surveyed the hall. Sure it was fun for her to to see grown witches and wizards dying out on the fields, but what she saw…the children….

Everywhere they looked, there were burn marks and smeared blood on the walls, children were askew in odd angles where they fell. Everyone. "Stone cold, my Lord." Bellatrix lifted the charred hand of one small girl and dropped it back on its owner.

"Harry has turned out to be quite self-motivated…better than I had planned...better than I suggested in fact." Voldemort mused as he continued his journey. He had a date with a certain Headmaster. Once he was sure that task was finished, his last would be reuniting with the One Who Lived to tie up loose ends.

With the woman at his side giggling as she viewed the carnage, others who made there way into the castle grumbled and fell into motley ranks behind their leader, complaining quietly that the job was done too well, leaving nothing for them to do, and no one to torture, rape, or kill. Only a few made mental notes where to head after the battle was won to reap the benefits of pillaging or sickening pursuits of rooting through the bodies as sheer entertainment.

In no time at all, the crew and its leader made their way to the gargoyle, finding it blown from its foundation, intact yet useless on its side. The noises within were deafening as the group stepped inside.

Dumbledore and Harry were aiming their wands at each other, green and silver lightning flashing, arcing, racing back and forth in a deadly battle, each wizard attempting to stop the other. The old wizard's eye strayed for just a glance at the figure that entered his door when the curse hit him as it leapt from the boy's wand. The old man fell, one hand clutching the robes over his chest. His eyes were still open as Voldemort leaned over him.

The peering figure of Voldemort took some satisfaction in spitting in the unflinching face of an old dead man.

Strolling leisurely back to his henchmen he hissed "Very good, Harry Potter." Voldemort turned to face the slack-jawed boy who, it seemed, did the work of ten by just a simple command from his mind. For a moment he considered keeping the boy alive just to finish off the few things he needed finish at the Ministry before his rise to ultimate power in the Wizarding world. Just a moment, before deciding that it would be better if he closed the book at the school before opening the one labled Ministry. "You have exceeded my expectations, and did my bidding. The link between you and me is obviously strong. If I were to accept you within my ranks, there is no doubt what truly dark and powerful deeds we would accomplish."

His followers peered at the boy, disbelieving the high praise from their leader. They-with exception of Bellatrix- had heard so little of it regarding their service, that it was discomfiting to hear the scrap of man, Potter of all people, receive any at all, after all the trouble he had caused their Lord in recent past.

"Sorry, though, young Mr. Potter, that its now your turn to die." A unified grin spread across every Deatheaters face.

Shock just registered, when two figures appeared from the corner of the room over the figure of Dumbledore, The wands of Granger, and McGonagall, trained on the group. The girl waving her wand over the Headmaster, whispering a cleansing charm and another quiet incantation before grasping his hand and assisting him to stand.

"I think, Voldemort, that you are wrong." Potter shot back at the angered snake.

The screams of anger swirled around the room as the Deatheaters who thought themselves privy to witness the end at their Master's hand now realized that they were duped. Voldemort was the only one who raised his hand and trained his wand on the boy.

"Impossible!" Voldemort screamed, "There is no way that you-"

"No way that I could have pushed you from my mind?" Harry shrieked in response to the statement. "There are more things under the heavens than what you perceive…TOM!" Pulling his stance to full height, instead of the feigned slouch Voldemort expected, Harry re-leveled his wand at his foe's chest.

From behind in the cavernous office there were footsteps as Order members began filing into the room, hexes flying as the Deatheaters realized they were surrounded and took a back-to-back stance in order to fight the Order members.

He had decided not to prolong the chain of events, and wanted to celebrate early with his victory. "I am done with you Potter. You bore me." In the crackling of charged air, it was Voldemort who threw the first curse. Severus had pushed to the fore of the other members, trying to position himself between the thrown curse and Potter, but as he leapt, he felt a different curse hit him, followed by a crackle of laughter.

As the killing curse hit Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the second curse thrown that very second tore under the ribcage of one Severus Snape-Professor, spy, and now quickly dying man.

All eyes trained on the boy as the hit, except one pair who snapped toward the black streak that suddenly hit the ground, bits of red splattering as it made contact. She was the first to set into movement.

The green glow, instead of surrounding and snuffing the boy, was somehow completely absorbed by the trinket he wore around his neck. The eyes of Voldemort's crew began to dart between the boy and the closing ranks of the Order members.

Without Harry saying a word, the Evileye ricocheted the same curse, seemingly amplified ten-fold, enveloping the Dark Wizard who cast it originally. The force of it sweeping him backward like a strong tide until he met resistance with the stone wall at the very back of the room.

Harry's hand reached up blindly ran his hand over the eye, almost a petting motion as his eyes and wand trained on Voldemort. Shocked by a hand on his shoulder, his whole body felt a tremor pass through it as he realized it was his Headmaster. "He's dead Mr. Potter. I'll double check, but I am certain he is gone."

There was a clatter of wands dropping as the group of Deatheaters slowly raised their hands in defeat. There was obviously no blind allegiance to the fallen man, realizing that since he was gone, they would not be able to reap the spoils after being at the right place at the right time. There was, however one exception.

Hermione Granger and Bellatrix Lestrange circled around the body of Severus Snape, the rest of the world gone in their eyes. They only regarded each other, while Bellatrix whispered, "Come to play with the big dogs, little mongrel?"

Hermione's face was completely void of emotion. Her eyes bright and sharp in focus.

While the older witch obviously wanted to take one of the Golden Trio out of this world if it was her last parting act. The young one assessed each twitch of the other, waiting for her chance to move and assist the man bleeding out between them. That's when Hermione noticed her chance.

Severus made a gurgling noise on the floor as Bellatrix smiled. Her eyes flitted to the figure on the ground. "Ooooh, Severus…is that your death knell I hear?" Her free hand covering a grin. In the instant she mused, Hermione shot the same curse she heard Bellatrix use to fell Severus. The curse caught the black-clad woman at the neck, severing her head clear from her body. The head rolled toward the stiff form of her former Lord; the body stock still less the gore that spewed from the neck.

Harry was as shocked as everyone else as Hermione used all her force to propel the body away from her and Snape. He watched as her force toppled the headless body over as she swooped onto Snape using her body to immobilize him as his body began to convulse. Harry and all in attendence were even more shocked to see his friend stripping Snape's clothing open to reveal the state of Severus' wound. And even more so at how his friend began to heal his Professor as she stroked his naked chest slowly, comfortingly, almost lovingly, with her free hand.

The round-up was swift as soon as the Deatheaters felt their connection to the Dark Lord break. They knew that instant that they game was over, and they were on the losing end. Some, though, decided it was better to die fighting rather than a slow decay within prison walls. Those few were dispatched with few casualties on the winning side.

Ron, Seamus and Neville peeked their head into the entrance of their Headmaster's office. At a prod by Seamus to jolt Ron from his gaze, he called into the room at a reverent level. "All of the students have been cleaned up and Rennervated. The count for us so far is zero student casualties."

Neville walked up to Harry while watching Hermione work on their fallen Professor. Neither one of them took their eyes at the wonder of her hands, her skill at piecing what was at first a gaping whole together. "Hermione's idea was brilliant. All the 'wounds' on the students were so real that Ron threw up. So did Seamus-twice. If it wasn't for her idea, I think today would have been very different."

Minerva McGonagall looked out the window to glance upon the battlefield below. There was a distinct ring of people cheering just outside the apparition wards of the school, those family and friends who had come to help in the fight, now waiting to be reunited with their children and friends within.

Minerva was jarred by the matter-of-fact sentence which completely was at odds with the words Hermione used.

"If you so much as attempt to touch him, I will alleviate you from the use of your wand hand." It was the voice of someone other than her sweet little bookworm.

Minerva realized that even though it wasn't Severus' voice or words, but the delivery of that statement which Hermione used was definitely his.

Minerva whirred around to see the Aurors as well as the emergency team back away from the student laboring to heal her Professor.

There was a distinct sucking of air that filled the room as Hermione continued, "And get that dead cunt out of here. She smells!" At last, the wound was closed and Hermione's concentration never wavered from her charge, and she continued murmuring over him, now her hand stroking his head like a child in sickbed.

One solitary laugh bellowed within the Headmaster's rooms, hearty, full, and sincere as Mad-eye Moody guffawed at the remark. Cringing at the slap that he earned from Minerva, he defended himself, "What? That was bloody funny!"


	14. Chapter 14

Evileye Chapter 14

Severus Snape came to quietly, his body still. His trained reflexes kept him from immediately giving the world notice that he was alive and well. The spy in him kept him motionless, using his senses to reacquaint himself with his surroundings-Playing opossum, just in case.

But he knew, without a doubt that he survived when he felt the hand caressing his head, his chest bare and cold to the chill in the air. The shuffles of feet and the Headmaster's voice telling the Aurors and mediwizards to search every inch of the castle for intruders and wounded, if any, let him know that the bulk of the battle was done.

Fingers, two of them, slid from his trachea to his carotid artery. After a pause, the fingers pried opened one eye in perfunctory inspection.

"I'm fine Granger. It seems you've passed with adequate marks." He shooed her hand from his face and he made to sit up, her hands boosting him upright, ignoring his attempt to be free of her.

The Headmaster moved forward and said, "Hermione, my dear, congratulations, you've met your criteria for graduation."

He smiled at her, but his eyes lost their twinkle when her only response was, "Fine. I'm going outside to help where it is needed. Good day, Headmaster." The response was joyless.

She straightened her blood-drenched clothes, performed a quick cleaning spell, and without making eye-contact with anyone else, she calmly and quietly exited the room.

Professor McGonagall bent down to one knee beside Severus, putting her hand gently on the back of his arm, which he—to everyone's surprise—accepted in order assist him stand. "Are you alright to stand, my friend?" she whispered to him, to which she received confirmation in a very small nod.

Hermione kept working with the wounded that were still on the grounds below. She later wouldn't be able to recall if they were friend or foe. To her, they had no names, and were classified only by injury. She worked until her body was shivering from cold and exhaustion, when she felt a spell-warmed shawl drape over her shoulders. She knew those hands. They were Ron's and while he didn't say a word, he gave her a comforting rub between her aching shoulder blades before he backed off to help someone else.

A voice called out to her. A voice she didn't expect. At all. "Damn it, Hermione! I'm over here!" Once the wounded witch she had just healed stood, Hermione focused her eyes blurrily at the waving figure in a bright red jumper.

As soon as Hermione saw her friend, she scrambled to her feet and ran. Fast, tripping and stumbling on the uneven grass until she reached Archana. Archana! What in bloody hell was she doing here? Hermione caught her around the neck and hugged her, hard.

"What? How? Oh my!" Hermione squeezed as her friend squeezed back.

"You are the dumbest smart person I know, Hermione!" Archana laughed in her ear. "Really, you didn't figure it out?"

"It's not possible!" Hermione responded, pushing her friend back at arm's length without losing her grip.

"Um, yes it is. We figured it out long ago about you, but it was too funny to ruin the intrigue." Archana rebutted. "My family…we are just like you, Hermione. Witches and Wizards, the whole lot of us. My studies abroad were punctuated by 'home-schooling'. I've even got a license to Apparate. Nifty little piece of paper, isn't it?"

Hermione squinted her eyes, now keen on the subterfuge. "Ooooh, you—wait! The book! Did you?"

"That was my mother's. And mine. We've used that book to jot down handy little spells, don't you think?" Archana continued, "Actually, that's been in our family for generations, but I know it by heart, and we read between the lines. It seemed like you were just the person who could borrow a good book without breaking the binding." She pulled Hermione forward, "Come. Mom and Dad want to say hello."

"WAIT! I need to tell you something first! That necklace you sent me. It wasn't a fake. It was the real deal." Hermione cried as she dug her heals in, expecting…well…surprise? Shock?

"Hermione, I know. Why the fuck isn't it on your neck?" was her friend's only reply.

/

"Oh, please! Please go now and tell my parents that I'm fine. I'm alright. Really" Hermione finally said that night. Bonfire light around the grounds gave the stained glass windows throughout the school some extra light to show their beauty to those looking within. Archana's parents stood to leave; their stay thus far approved whole-heartedly by Professor McGonagall, as well as her friend Archana's overnight stay.

With more hugs, they departed, and Hermione looped her arm around her friends, locking the two together. "I've so much to show you. You can meet my friends here, see my room! Oh, I can't believe this, it is just too good to be true!"

Hermione tugged her friend into a full-on run. "I've got to show you one place first-The Library!" Archana snorted as she ran to keep pace.

Just as they hit the corner, Hermione ran into a blockade, her friend spinning out from their linked arms, Archana recovering immediately. Hermione's body, however, found itself flush against a tall, dark 'drink of water', Archana's brain called him in a snap judgment.

At first, Hermione's visitor was going to make a sarcastic remark, but quickly noticed Hermione's expression: Confusion. Anger. Hurt. Something else too fleeting, then absolutely nothing. Nothing.

"Hermione?" Archana's eyes showing the man nothing but bewilderment, as her initial grin at him faltered because of his undeterminable, stoic expression. Hermione's friend positioned herself off to Hermione's side, letting her wand slide just to the tips her fingers "just in case", regarding the man who hadn't done anything really but catch Hermione by surprise.

"Miss Granger. Were you looking to undo your handy-work by barreling through it? And miss..whoever you are…care to shove that wand right up your-"

"Professor Snape," Hermione spoke loudly, but devoid of any emotion. "This is my friend Archana. She gave me the talisman. She's the reason you are now without your part-time job of espionage." Her voice, continued. "My apologies if I caused you any pain, now if you'll excuse us." With that, Hermione put her hand in her friend's and started walking slowly away.

Archana kept looking over her shoulder at the man, this Professor Snape character, as Hermione led her the few steps remaining to the library. She watched him make no move to leave his spot, as his eyes never waivered their gaze from Hermione's back.

When she finally looked at Hermione, she saw tears silently streaking down her face, the only indication of a pain so fresh and real it made Archana choke her own sob recognition and commiseration.

"Oh. My. God. Hermione?" She jerked Hermione into a fierce hug. "Its okay its okay its okay shhhhshhhh…." she whispered into a head of hair, holding her now trembling mass of friend.

With a quick silencing spell cast by Archana's wand, the whole story came spewing out. Every last detail. Because Archana was the only friend who she knew wouldn't judge her. Wouldn't hate her… and wouldn't ever tell another soul.

/

A knock at the door broke Severus' concentration for just a moment. A face appeared, but for some reason it didn't quite bother him the way he thought it should.

"Professor Snape, may I have a word?" asked Harry. His words were not tinged with any emotion, just an honest and straight-forward question.

"Enter, Mr. Potter." Severus stood and for some reason felt compelled to motion to the empty chair just to his left. He sat before his visitor made it to the proffered seat, and waited patiently.

"Professor, I feel I need to ask," Harry prompted, "Something happened to Hermione, before the battle, I mean. There is something wrong with her. Its like…" He stopped, asking with his eyes.

"Like what, Mr. Potter." Severus retaining his calm but listening intently. Waiting. Straining.

"Well," he looked straight into his former professor's eyes and continued, "I think she's… there's no way to really describe it…"

"Really, Mr. Potter. I know for a fact that you have a decent enough vocabulary-"

"Since she's left, none of us have received messages from her longer than one line at a time...I need your help. I think she's broken." His voice caught in his throat, unable to say more.

/

Hermione entered the London nightclub, the same place she had visited every night for a month after graduating alone and months ahead of her friends. Wanting the music and chatter to fill the eerie spaces in her head and crowd those feelings she wanted to ignore right out of existence.

It was as "muggle" as the nights were long. She straightened out her skirt and approached the bar. Again. Her eyes scanned the half-lit dance floor as she listened to the thumping of the tempo, shouting out her order to the barkeep.

He was there; the man in black that she had come back over and over again to watch. His features were almost the same. His height, weight, Hell, even his long elegant fingers were so alike that when she squinted just-like-so, she just saw who she wanted to see.

The only things that differentiated them were, well, two things: Age and kind. This was a twentysomething man who was no wizard.

Even this younger double's frock coat and cuffs, his high collar, his coattails were like her ex-professor's.

This boy, for lack of better words, was looked like a stalker of the very man who hammered himself into every hiding place in her brain. Like a fanboy emulating the object of his attention.

_Oh_, she thought_, he is beautiful, though_.

And even though it was painful for her to watch, she watched him anyway. His graceful movements were mesmerizing, to a 'gothic'-she was told- tune pouring from the speakers. Pixie-like women swirled, ebbed and flowed around him, some of them singing with closed eyes to the tune they all knew and loved. His face unobstructed, being head-above-the-rest tall. His hands as graceful as her potionmaster's in a way she just knew she'd never see again.

Uncomfortable in her own skin, let alone the outfit she now wore, she set out to claim a closer spot to him on the dance floor. _Naked_, she thought to herself now. She squeezed her elbows to her ribcage, trying to discretely hitch up the corset she wore, hoping that it would settle her—she was mortified that she was even doing this—cleavage to no avail. She could feel her face burning red from self-debasement as well as the shallow breathing her cinched confines produced-The lace choker too tight, the gauze skirt too airy, too flowing, the knee-high boots too tall, all of it too, too terribly black.

She began second guess herself when she saw the doppelganger's eyes. Jarringly, they were, quite to her amazement, icy blue. With that shock, she notated another difference between the two men.

Hermione almost bolted toward the door to escape her own charade.

He glanced at her, though, at JUST the right second and settled into a playful grin as he stretched his arms out and lifted his palms, worshipping the song. Mouthing, "Hey now, hey now now, sing this corrosion to me…" and he reached his hand out and between two other dancers, offering it to her. Hermione slid her gloved fingers into his palm without breaking their gaze and without any hesitation.

They stayed together, there, on the tightly packed dance floor, never losing contact though the mix of pace and genre.

She felt at odds with herself, wondering what she was doing with this man. On one level she felt flattered that he took notice, and aroused by his smooth caresses on the places where her skin was bare. The level right underneath that one, though, registered disgust that she would stoop so low as to seek out an impostor to feed her urges.

He drew her body flush against his in the moment he saw that he had lost Hermione's full attention. His eyes searched her face as he gazed down, his long black hair tickling each of her cheeks. The young man, though gentle, let his need be known as they rocked sensually to the hauntingly slow song. His lips were parted slightly, as were hers, their breathing and their pulses gradually slowing from the extended dance music they nearly spent themselves on just before.

It was in that moment that Hermione's brain accessed the quip she had heard from Archana one evening. _What's the difference between a man and a woman? A woman KNOWS whether or not she's getting laid that night. _

In that moment, she knew that tonight she was going to take him to her brand new flat, paint fumes and all, to fill every figurative and literal void with this man.

Self-pity and regret be damned!

She snaked her fingers between his, and began tempting him off the dance floor toward the exit.

In the gangway between the club entrance and the pink neon beckoning passersby, he pressed her against the masonry and insinuated himself suggestively with one thigh snug between her legs. Catching a blurry glimpse at her face just a second before brushing his cheek against hers, nudging her just enough to expose her neck to him. His mouth pressed against the place where lace met skin and he slickened it with a wriggle of his tongue.

And if Hermione's eyes had been open, she would have seen the figure which shifted in the shadow gazing at her face, noticing that it wasn't pleasure he saw there, but sheer grief…defeat…watching her as the man-boy's fingers skimmed the corset and began a sure descent downward.

Hermione fought her urge to run, and now she was rectifying in her brain that it was only fitting that she would allow herself to be fondled by an ersatz Snape, rooting like a pig in a literal alley when she heard and felt a shocked yelp and a cold breeze where the man-boy was just situated against her.

She shook her head, disbelieving the mirror image facing-off just before her: The older, fierce in his unbridled fury-The younger calculating the man before him, instantly realizing that he was being exploited by the girl with the fucking-hot curves and so much sexual promise.

The younger version realized that he was being played, and the real object of her desires was seething before him. He also felt the joints in his wrist pop from the vice-like grip around it.

"Hey, man…I kinda think your beef isn't with me…" the young man with an obviously American accent raised one hand in capitulation. "I didn't know she was taken…and I definitely didn't know she was yours!" he began backing away as soon as the fierce hold on his wrist was disengaged.

The last glimpse Hermione had of that man was of him looking, well, crestfallen, a sincere look of hurt as he stepped back into the club.

"Oh, God!" Hermione wailed as she spun, running, stumbling away as best she could in high heels from the man who was a the heart of this whole sordid mess, "I can't fucking believe this, Severus Snape, leave me be!"

The mist of rain making her escape even more treacherous, she felt him grip her upper arm once, but her skin was just slick enough and his grip just loose enough that she ripped her arm out of his grasp, almost making it to the street.

The second attempt, though, he caught her by her gloved wrist and tugged with enough force to make her face him then.

And then with a booming crack, they both disappeared from the London gangway as if they were never there at all.


	15. Chapter 15

Evileye Chapter 15

She immediately could make out the sight of her old school way off in the distance, wondering why the hell he had brought her here.

Screwing her facial features into some fury, trying to tug herself free, Hermione's restraint began to fray as she felt the heat of embarrassment scorch her cheeks. "Let me go!" The words tore from her lips as she tried to scratch herself free at the wrist, her nails abysmally having no effect through her gloves.

"Why are you DOING THIS to me? To humiliate me some MORE?" She sobbed in her anger, her throat sore from being accustomed to such volume or force. "Are you ENJOYING seeing my life in shambles?...You taking comfort that other people's lives suck too!" She coughed out before he grabbed her shoulders. Severus shook her once. Hard.

She looked up at him with that jolt, and felt fear. Fear because of what she saw on the face of her unflappable ex-professor.

Sorrow.

He released her and just stood before her. The corners of his mouth downturned, his eyebrows furrowed. And he just took in her gaze. His shoulders dropped from their sharp axis as he exhaled wearily.

Hermione noticed a tremor in him that refused to diminish. His throat ground out, "You must stop this, Miss Granger."

Her hand found its way to her forehead, testing herself for fever, thinking that this could possibly be an hallucination, not wanting to believe that she was actually here, with him, "This is a bloody…. INTERVENTION?"

"I thought my life couldn't get worse, but now you are going to give ME the what-for?...This is too fucking…PRECIOUS!" She shrieked.

She tried hard to act indignant, but just having him near was so sharply painful that the emotional wounds she was nursing from when he tossed her out of his rooms ripped wide and bled anew.

Her knees buckled, and she fell to them, then she sat back on her heels. She knew she couldn't outrun him. He wasn't a threat to her person, anyway.

Hermione knew was going to humiliate her and she was just going to have to take it, and get it over with so she could crawl back home.

Her eyes brimmed with strangled traces of wetness. Her body quaking, "Go ahead. Now is your chance to kill whatever scraps of pride I had-"

"WOULD YOU STOP! Please….Stop." His roar faltered, ending with a pained ache. Not wanting to continue while looking down from his height, he lurched forward, dragging her up to her feet. The rain fell persistently now, both of them drenched and he, at a loss at what to do, locked her to him with one arm, trying to sop up the rain on her face with his free hand.

"This is all my fault, Miss Granger…" his voice gravelly and hoarse, whispering now, "Hermione."

She stopped trying to push him away, searching his features for the truth in his words. "The pain I've caused you. The anger I heaped upon you in great measure, the relentless barrage of insults, the way I drove you to lose yourself, break you down," he continued, "It was all in the name of 'the Greater Good' but it was wrong. I was wrong."

One anguished sob escaped her mouth before she ground her teeth to stop any more from coming. She couldn't tell if it was because of his words or his warmth, but she knew it didn't make a difference. "I don't need your apologies," she gritted out as she pushed unsuccessfully in an attempt to flee. "Don't need your pity, either."

"It isn't pity!" He held her chin in the web of his hand, his thumb gripping firm, not letting her pull away. "I want you to forgive me!" he choked.

"The way I trained you…and treated you… was so wrong. I took the easiest and most destructive routes to force you to perform, and left you to your own defenses in the aftermath. I used every trick I had to get the results required of you."

Hermione retaliated with a sharp screech, "So you DID feel nothing for me? It was all planned in the name of business? You did this to me knowing my heart-" she was crumbling, and stopped herself from admitting her desire, her feelings for this man.

Severus continued, realizing now he needed to once in his life tell the whole truth to someone he knew would listen. Just listen. And somewhere in his heart, he wanted to let someone he hurt know he was truly sorry.

"Wait. Before I answer you I need to tell you…At first, my pettiness wanted to alienate you from your friends, my greed hoarded every moment of your day. Even my lust for you begged for me to take advantage of you. And I was so angry that every time you were close to me, I felt like I was the one being put to the test.

"Then you…and then I…and when…." Severus tried to put everything that happened between them to words, but he was finding it impossible.

He uncharacteristically blurted out, "I didn't want to ruin you. I would have sullied you, and I just couldn't." He tried to make her understand, "All the base urges within me wanted to divide and conquer you but you are the purest soul I think I've ever encountered. I couldn't let myself force that purity out of you."

In his arms, she began a silent weep. "And I'm so sorry that you had to experience any of this. Please," Severus' eyes pleading as he spoke, "I know I'm not worth your forgiveness, but I'm hoping you'll understand that I'm a cruel, petty man who is now begging you for it."

"And after I've given my forgiveness, then what?" She finally was able to free herself from his grasp but remained before him. She choked out, "Then what? I'll still have all of these feelings for you, and you'll forget everything as old business."

Severus looked at her, confused. He didn't quite know what to say to her. He was expecting her to scream that he could rot in hell, but that didn't come.

"Feelings? Didn't you hear me? I said that I hurt you on PURPOSE. How could you possibly feel anything for me but HATE…or anger."

"Oh, I'm angry alright." Hermione crossed her arms around herself, consoling herself the only way she could. "But…even knowing the reasons why you hurt me…." She searched his face, her own expressing such pain to him that she saw him grimace in recognition.

She stepped closer to him now and jabbed hard with a finger to his sternum, "I can't stop how I feel about you!" She opened her hand and pressed it over his heart and then pushed. "You…." She searched her head for the right words, "Jerk."

Hermione stood there, waiting for him to yell at her, to push her hand away. Something.

She felt his hands clasp over her hand, locking to him. "Please. Forgive me." He whispered. "I've lived through so many things, but without your forgiveness…" His words faltered, and he was obviously not used to speaking freely.

Hermione waited, allowing him to gather this thoughts. She felt his heart hammering under her hand, and she felt a lump in her throat, knowing he was voicing from both is head and under her hand.

"I…feel…such…remorse…hurting you…I've never experienced such pain in my whole, pathetic, useless life!"

Hermione sobbed at hearing his pain. Wrenching her hand free, she yanked off her gloves and her hands reached up to cradle his face. "Gods, Oh Gods! I forgive you." She lifted his chin, and made him look her in the eye.

"But I will not stand here to hear your self-debasement." She protested.

Her voice in a tremor, "It hurts me too much. I just feel too highly of you, still, too much in my heart for you to listen to you do that to-"

The word 'yourself' was cut off by her own lips.

For a moment they stood, his tall form bent down, her small one arcing up to meet him, and the rain stopped to make the stillness complete.

Hermione pulled back, knowing she had crossed some line—possibly all of them—but stopped to make sure he understood her acceptance.

"Right. Now you have it. I guess I should just go." She eeked out in a small voice and made to pull away from him. She was just about to say goodbye when he reached for her and drew her back.

This time, he kissed her.

She felt him tentative at first. Then the kiss grew, and she felt him pour his gratefulness into it. And then it changed again and she felt his lips sliding over hers in a whole different way.

The kiss became more possessive, all-encompassing, and he gathered her flush against him as his robes encircled her.

She felt one of his hands gliding down her back and one snaking up behind her neck, and felt his passion, and his desire, and need.

Severus felt her accept his kiss, then her felt her return it, her body conveying more now, her lips, soft against his, pressing and searching his out. She yielded to him, feeling his body ask more of her, she acquiesced, allowing him to draw her against him. And then she dared to begin demanding her wants to be satisfied as well.

Hermione shifted, pressing her chest against his, sighing as she felt the binds of her corset constrict her in that angle. He glimpsed at her chest and she heard him growl in appreciation. She sucked in her stomach and jerked down on it, daringly, until she felt it freeing just the tips of each breast, and some knowledge deep in her foggy brain told her to arch her back from him.

She felt him drop to one knee, and watched as his tongue snaked from the flesh over her breastbone slowly toward one peak. Then her eyes watched as he took it carefully between his lips to suck on it. Hearing, no, feeling him hum his pleasure against it as his arm drew possessively around her waist. She cried out as he whipped his tongue over her tightened nipple, sucking and flicking it, somehow making her knees tremble.

Severus kept his eyes open, reading her every move, needing to make her respond even more, wanting the sights and sounds of her to overtake him just as much as he wanted to overtake her.

His free hand slid up the back of her leg, feeling the boot stop just below her knee. When he felt her skin there, his fingertips caressed the bare skin just above it. Never had he felt anything so soft, feeling her skin prickle in anticipation as she wiggled in askance. Slowly he skimmed the edge of the leather until he felt the warmth radiating from her center.

Locking his gaze with hers, his hand pulled away the cloth at her hip, dragging it down under her skirt, over her boots and then it shot back to the warmth it just left. She moaned as she steadied herself with one hand on his shoulder. His fingers skimmed her soft, wetted curls, pressing her pussy lips against her aching nub.

Hermione's voice faltered as she breathed heavier, feeling herself throb in anticipation, yet he kept stroking her softly, feeling her slickness drenching his fingers even at the most gentle caresses. His grip around her waist tightened as his middle finger delved between her outer folds, and slowly he began to glide over and over her slick clit. She cried out as her body quaked. She opened her mouth and let her throat voice what her brain couldn't-His fingers nudging, pressing, stroking, until he couldn't help but work faster, making her cries louder and more insistent.

Grunting, Severus released her and tore off his robes, and grabbing her by the hips, all but shoved her quickly to the ground. He stood above her, taking in her sights, her white skin glowing below him, the black of her outfit masking much but promising so much more to come.

And she was a sight, her breasts exposed, her thighs in high contrast to the inky boots, and that skirt hiked up enough for him to see her thighs and his solitary desire at this moment.

Hermione slid her hands above her head, feeling wanton and so aroused, she sucked in her stomach and rolled her hips slowly, calling him back wordlessly.

At that sight, he abandoned the idea of undressing, wanting more now to taste her than to sate his own need, and his mouth pressed firmly against her as his tongue concentrated on working her to a frenzy. He sucked slightly, tasting her juices and then opened his mouth to flatten his tongue against her pleasure.

Hermione watched his eyes close momentarily at the exquisite pleasure he was receiving from her taste, and it heightened her sensations even more.

His tongue working her clit better than she had ever frigged herself, feeling him jerking at her clit now as fast as his tongue could move. She screamed as the first spasm came, and the next and next had her keening, his tongue ruthlessly and relentlessly jostled the little bud sending new shocks of pleasure to her brain, and her pussy clenching at nothing in forceful spasms.

When he dipped one finger low to her entrance, her knees spread wider still, and her voice scraped out, "Please!" as he slid it inside her.

They both moaned at the feeling.

And he coaxed even more shudders out of her by softly stroking her insides, slowing the movements of his tongue, to a gentle pressure. He slowly retreated and sat back onto his heels, his knees keeping the beautiful woman in front of him spread and exposed.

Severus seized this moment and memorized her look of all-encompassing beauty, wet and disheveled, and the picture of complete bliss and appreciation.

Hermione watched him regain his breath, towering above her even on his knees, and she felt the jolt of need again. She pushed herself upright and pushed herself up his thighs until she met his hard resistance.

And she clung to him as she drew his mouth down to hers. She kissed him, tasting herself on his lips, and she breathed into his mouth, "You are going to come with me." She pinched the tip of her wand and pulled it from her boot, and with that, the only thing they left behind was the shape of Hermione pressed into the wet grass.


	16. Chapter 16

Evileye Chapter 16

With a loud crack they found themselves entwined on a soft, plush rug in the middle of Hermione's flat.

The spy in him made Severus quickly glance around the sparsely furnished home, locking eyes with a feline who froze momentarily, then continued grooming without another beat. Sensing they were otherwise alone, his attention snapped back to the tantalizing witch who was currently plucking the buttons of his waistcoat from their holes.

His hands on her hips kept her snug against him, and she leaned back just far enough to fumble with his clothes at a frantic speed. Severus couldn't help but silently marvel at the heated whimpers she kept emitting in frustration. From these sounds, she was able to make him throb in anticipation, wondering if she could feel it against her core as much as he did.

"Where is it?" He groaned.

And she stopped mid-yank and looked him in the eye, her own eyes questioning, her hands fisting his shirt which she had just tugged free.

"Your bed, witch! Where is it?" Leaning forward, cradling her back and hefting her up, he rocked forward, stood to one knee and then stood fluidly.

"There…over there." She pointed to the French doors at the end of the room.

In the light she saw his determination chiseled into his profile, winning him a kiss along the tendon in his neck which she found fascinatingly bare. His inhale was loud in the otherwise silent flat, and ragged as she flicked her tongue against it. His exhale bore every resemblance to a growl, a low rumble deep from within him.

Then he was upon her, her knees still splayed to accommodate him. Her exclamation, "Ahhhhmm!" as he ground solidly upward, knowing he was connecting with her already drenched slit.

Hermione jerked his shirt from his shoulders, constricting his arms slightly behind him and she sighed. His body, etched in scars old and new, still looked beautiful, and she made to kiss his chest, dragging her lower lip over his skin as she looked up to gaze into his eyes. "More…need more…I need you!" she whispered hoarsely.

Rolling him off of her, she yanked his shirt off the rest of the way and scrambled back into his lap, her thighs straddling his as she tugged the buttons of his trousers open. Tugging, tugging, freeing him from them, by literally yanking them off of him with his boots only to re-mount him just below his thick, proud manhood.

He made to push himself onto his elbows to watch, but Hermione slid her small hands up his thighs, over his abdomen, and then his chest, cooing, "Now it is your turn to feel…" her hands caressed back down, reaching his erection, and she encircled it fist over fist lightly. Her impish grin at his eyes fluttering briefly shut, widened just before he looked back at her, to see her graze the head of his cock with wetted lips, "just how much I desire you."

As she mouthed these words, he could feel her breath skirting over him, and the little 'o' her mouth made as she emphasized "you" soon parted around his member, eliciting a hiss of pleasure Hermione had never before heard.

Her tongue pressed firmly against the underside of his shaft as she took him into her mouth, reading somewhere that it was pleasurable for a man to feel that tight, wet resistance, and she realized that her studies were paying off this very instant.

She stroked him with her mouth as her fingertips began mapping every millimeter of his body, testing, stroking, gauging his every utterance, measured by the intensity of her own responses to them. The louder he exclaimed, the wetter she got until she arched her back and lifted her mouth, freeing him with a wet popping noise.

Severus groaned at the feeling of her releasing him, and saw her crawling back up to him, this time wiggling her hips unknowingly in anticipation right before she settled right on top of him, her wetness pressing his shaft between them, and she could swear that Severus' face went slack with the sensation. Hermione began slowly rubbing him, sliding her own juices over him, relishing the feeling of his veiny underside thrumming her clit. It felt naughty, and sexy, and enthralling as she experimented with his body.

His hands gripping her legs just above the knee, he watched her through half-mast eyelids, rocking herself, sliding her drenched slit a little faster now, realizing she was close to coming again.

Without hesitation, she judged and tilted her hips, aligning her opening with him and in one swift move, she sunk her body down over him.

Severus momentarily froze, realizing that he felt her body breached with him sunk deep inside her. Expecting a cry, a scream, something as the small tear widened to accommodate him, he was shocked by her response.

Her eyes glistened and she leaned forward until her face was the only thing he could see. Then she gathered her hair over her shoulder and spoke softly into his ear, "Thank you for this gift." And with that, she pulled back to center and kissed him.

He marveled at her, the passion and emotion that she conveyed in her kiss, her fearlessness and courage to consummate without reservation and at her ability to make him feel like he was losing his virginity to her.

By her taking him, willingly and in control, he felt as if she had razed the tethers of his guilt and released him. The feeling in his lower belly, the unmistakable surges, and his newly understood emotion for her made it impossible to stay on his back.

Hermione was disoriented momentarily from being in control and slowly building speed to the whirlwind that landed her on her back again, with her, she swooned at the thought, _lover, _now in control and obviously wanting to pick up the pace.

Severus lifted himself on his hands, his back arched as he began to thrust with all his desire, need and strength. His eyes raking over her body, needy and taking in every inch of her, including the place where they now joined.

So overwhelmed with feeling and emotion, she looked to his eyes. At that moment, he was so fixated on watching where he entered her that she too looked and as soon as she did, the view was so exquisite that she felt herself constrict on him, clenching and quivering around his thickness, keening at the feeling of her first orgasm with him buried deep inside her.

His moan was bit off in his mouth as he felt the already tight Hermione cinch in rapid speed around him and he was undone, hearing her mouth exhale loud 'ahs' with each shudder. The breath he was holding was pushed out of his chest in a cry as he felt his own release.

Within seconds, he searched her face for any signs of regret, but found only giddy pleasure from the beautiful woman still joined with him. He saw her still coming down from a natural high, and she still squirmed at the aftershocks deep within her.

Hermione's smile at him was so genuine that it was contagious. He smiled without reservation for her to see as he tactfully untangled himself from and laid down beside her. She turned to face him and he draped his arm around her, stroking lightly over her skin.

Meeting his eyes, she traced his lips with her index finger. "Never hide this from me again." His smile increasing as drew up her knees between them, warming her toes between his legs. "You've no need to hide anything from me. I know you. I want you in my life. I will never waver." Suddenly taking the conversation in a serious turn.

"I'm a difficult man." He kissed the words into her hand.

"I know."

"I've got a lot to sort out-" he tried not to look her in the face.

"I figured, but that will not change my mind." She cut in. Taking his face in both her hands now, she scurried back into his sight. "Look at me. This might not be easy for you…for either of us…but you know what? I know that I deserve happiness, even if for some reason you don't believe you do.

"And my happiness, although not centered on you, is definitely influenced by your presence in my life. So you'll just have to deal with that. I'm as stubborn as the days are long…YOU know THAT." She paused at his guffaw now. "So we'll work through whatever we need to, but I'm not giving up on this," she motioned between them… "Or this." She grazed his already refreshed and stiff member. "So there." She smiled, obviously winning him over.

And without a word or desire to argue, Severus Snape succumbed to her body, her mind, and her heart.


End file.
